


Dissipation

by discosludge



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smoking, but I won't go into detail, standard legion atrocities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discosludge/pseuds/discosludge
Summary: Like smoke in the air, the hatred starts to fade away.
Relationships: Female Courier/Joshua Graham
Comments: 42
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

Shay stopped smoking in Zion, for a time. It hadn’t felt right when she first arrived, to pollute the clean canyon air with her sickly smoke. The rain was so clean it rolled right her off sun-beat skin. 

But Joshua Graham made her skin itch, set her teeth tense. It led her back to her smoke, her quiet nightly reveries. 

So she sits on the bank of the Virgin river, the gentle lapping of the water nearly touching the toe of her boots, with a slender cigarette hanging lazily between her index and middle finger. The ash starts to collect on the edge, and Shay watches as the tendrils of smoke twist up into the clear night sky, contrasting against the bright stars and dark blue. 

“Daniel is looking for you.” Joshua’s interrupts her thoughts from somewhere behind her. His voice cuts to her bone, the deep rasp of aged and damaged vocal chords sending a cold shiver on a warm night. 

Shay frowns, doesn’t look at him. “Did you follow me out here?”

He approaches her, but she won’t look at him. Two snakeskin boots stand next to her on the bank. She thinks of putting her cigarette out on one of them, but decides against it. 

“I followed your cigarette butts,” Joshua remains standing. “It’s quite the habit you have, courier.”

She hates that he calls her that, hates the way he still looms over her. She stands up, almost immediately regretting it when she turns to him. He’s taller than her, his shoulders broader, his entire being taking up more space in her immediate vicinity than she can bear. Shay takes a step back. 

“What do you want?” She asks, none too politely. 

“I told you,” he responds placidly. “Daniel is looking for you.” 

“Ok, what does _he_ want?” 

She wonder if his patience ever thins—with her, with the Dead Horses, with anything. If it does, she hasn’t seen it yet. 

“I don’t know,” Joshua says. “He told me to find you. And here I am.” 

Shay scoffs. “The classic ‘right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing’ thing? That’s funny.” 

He doesn’t respond, but rather stares at her through un-covered blue eyes, cold and focused. Like a trapped rabbit, Shay was quickly turning to her every defense to try and get away. Joshua, however, was not the joking type. 

“It seems the message has been delivered.” Joshua’s eyes travel to the scar on her cheekbone, before returning to once again meet her gaze. “Walk back with me.” 

It wasn’t a question. Shay scrunches her nose and furrows her brow at him, but her feet compel her forward when he turns to head back to the Sorrows camp. Better to comply and not get shot by that nasty handgun of his.

She drops the cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with her boot before continuing their journey back to camp. Shay watches the shape of his back as he walks, the steady stride of his footsteps. The silence strangles her. 

“Do you smoke?” Shay asks. The question flies into the night air like puff of smoke, dissipating between them. For a moment of prolonged silence, she thinks he won’t answer her, then he clears his throat.

“No.” He responds, and while he doesn’t turn around to respond to her, he does slow his stride to match her pace. Shay doesn’t like that half has much as watching him in front of her. 

He’s looking at her, expectant. 

“What?” 

“You take no comfort in being near me.” 

Shay blanches at that. Of course she’s uncomfortable. As a child growing up north of the border, she had heard stories about evil men who would come and take her away. Then, as a teenager, they stopped being stories. In a moment, Shay swears she can smell the scent of burning blood, see the stark red of a banner, hear the cries of women and children. Her mother’s smile—her father’s laugh. 

“No,” Shay says quietly as she focuses on the path ahead of them, eyes anywhere away from him. “I don’t.” 

“You would not be the first. You won’t be the last either.” Joshua says. “I wouldn’t expect understanding from one such as yourself, but I am my mistakes. I paid for them, and I am still here. I go in God’s grace. That is all we can do.” 

“It must be nice for you,” she says, short and angry. “That he just forgives you for stuff like that. Burning down villages, enslaving kids, all that rape and murder. He’s cutting you a pretty good deal huh?”

Joshua doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Shay is almost surprised at how easy it was to silence him. Then he opens his mouth again.

“As I said,” he begins. “I wouldn’t expect you to be understanding. But you should know that I wish you no harm, courier. You were sent here to help us, and I wouldn’t do anything to interfere in His plans.” 

She rolls her eyes. How did he manage to be so sanctimonious every other sentence?

“What if I killed you?” Shay asks suddenly. She doesn’t know where it comes from, probably another defense mechanism in the face of a predator with their claws out. The last thing she wants to do is piss him off, to give him any reason to make her an enemy. And here she was, doing it so boldly. Maybe Doc Mitchell was wrong and that bullet scrambled her brain.

Joshua stops walking, turns to face her. He hums, staring at her steadily. “Do you think you could?” 

Shay blinks, suddenly feeling the heavy weight of Maria holstered in her belt. She had that knife in her boot, and the gun in her belt, but that was it. If he wanted to kill her right here, right now, he would probably have an easy time of it. He would probably do some weird shit like pray over her dead body or something. 

“Maybe,” Shay says, the honestly pouring forth from her. “If you didn’t see it coming.” 

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but she swears she can see his mouth move under his gauze, the form of a smile taking place there. 

“My only advice for you then,” Joshua steps closer to her, his form blocking her from the path ahead of them. He’s so close she can smell him—gunpowder and sweat and mesquite. “Don’t miss.” 

Shay knew he wasn’t bluffing. She watches the way his eyes travel from her own, to the scar Benny had gifted her, down to the pulse beating quickly on her neck. She always had a bad poker face. 

“I’m not going to kill you.” Shay blurts it out, her words tumbling forward in fear. 

“I know,” Joshua leans back as he says it, his voice crawling from the tips of her ears to the hard line of her tensed shoulders. “I don’t think you could.” 

Jesus, it was almost like he wanted her to kill him. 

“I’m perfectly capable. I killed the guy who shot me.” 

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Joshua says. “And it helped you, did it?” 

She swallows, and when she closes her eyes she can see Benny’s face pleading with her. _You don’t have to do this kid, you’re a better one than me._ Then she had shot him. 

“Yes.” 

A lie. She was sure he could tell. 

Joshua stares at her, so still that the only indication of his still being awake and conscious was the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. Finally, he blinks and turns around to the direction of the camp. She can see the soft light of the torches across the water. 

“Tell me what the Legion did to you.” He says. Shay doesn’t know what to say first. She hadn’t even really expected him to acknowledge the actual reason she was uncomfortable around him. Desperately searching for an escape from this conversation, she looks to the camp entrance. It was still far. No such luck. 

Shay sighs. “You don’t really want to know.” 

“I do.” Joshua answers quickly. 

Why he wants to know is a mystery to Shay. Did he want to be reminded of his own past atrocities? Would he apologize to her? Would it even matter to him?

“I don’t know if it was them, I never found out. A group of men in red came to my town when I was little and raided the place. Took the young boys, killed the men. I have a hunch what they did to the rest of ‘em, but we don’t need to go into details there.” 

“You survived.” Joshua says. 

“A friend helped me get out. Then they got him. I don’t know what happened to him after that,” Shay can vaguely hear the sounds of the Sorrows as they prepare to end the day and switch watch shifts. “Anyways, I’m fairly confident I know who the culprit is. That m.o. is pretty familiar by now.” 

Joshua blinks, stares down at the water at their feet before meeting her eyes once again. “How old were you?” 

“I was ten.” 

Joshua sighs. “You were a child.” 

“Not really after that,” Shay says as they approach the entrance after what feels like forever. “You start getting used to people dying around you.” 

Neither say anything. They both knew it was true. Shay thinks of all the people who have died by her hand—how many fathers and brothers and mothers and sisters and wives and husbands she’s killed. How many of them were a mother’s daughter, a father’s son? She swallows. 

“I’m not going to let the people here down,” Shay says finally. He turns to face her as they stand at the entrance to the Sorrows camp. “I’ll stick around and help.” 

“Was that in question?” Joshua asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. 

“I thought of turning around and leaving when we met,” Shay says. “Or staying and trying to kill you.” 

Joshua stares at her steadily, the sounds of the water pouring reverberating around them. “You never did.” 

“No,” Shay responds. “I’m still deciding. But I’ll remember your advice.” 

“You would do well to.” Joshua says. 

“Yes well—“ Shay stutters. “Goodnight.” 

Joshua doesn’t say it back, rather he turns around to head toward the small fire Daniel was sitting in front of. She watches as he takes a seat across from the other man, grabs that tattered old book from his back pocket, and flips it open. Cast in the glow of the fire, he almost looks peaceful. She wonders what it would be like to wring his neck, if the gauze would slip under her fingers and expose whatever lay underneath. 

Though the more she’s around him, the less it seems like he bears the responsibility for what happened to her when she was a child. Maybe it had been raiders, or slavers or just a random group of sadists. Maybe the memories had a way of being mucked up by time. 

Or maybe it was Joshua himself, cold and unburnt, standing there at the precipice of her parent’s cattle ranch, doling out orders to his subservients. Would she even remember him, if it was? Would he admit to it, if pressed? Had there ever been a man there giving orders at all? Or was it random chaos? Time and concussions and a bullet in the head had made the details infuriatingly fuzzy. 

The thoughts follow her to bed that night, haunting her until the early light of dawn. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was easier to be in the daylight the longer she was in Zion. While the sun was hot and bright, the cool breeze of the canyon air and the always-flowing water never made it unbearable. There were scouting trips with Follows-Chalk and cave explorations with Waking Cloud. Daniel was downright amicable with her now. Whatever terse, hushed conversations between Joshua and Daniel took place, Shay took no part in them, therefore free of whatever burden the two were constantly splitting. 

Nights were harder. The moon which seems to hang lower in the canyon sky reminds her of the lights back at home, the lights of the strip. She thinks of Boone and Rex, Raul and Arcade. If she kept up like this, they would probably assume she was dead. If only there was someone here who could deliver messages back home. 

“Courier.” Joshua’s voice comes from somewhere on her right. She had been smoking again, this time sitting lazily against a rock on Caterpillar Mound. When she looks at Joshua coming up the rocks to meet her, she wonders if it’s a hassle to get the gauze he wore around his legs wet. 

“Can I help you, Graham? Wait let me guess—Daniel needs me for something.”

He stops a few feet in front her, the awkward shape of the rocks making him seem shorter than he was. It was almost nice to be looking down at him for once. 

“No,” Joshua says. “I require your aid today.” 

Shay quirks an eyebrow at him. “What could you possibly need my help with?”

“I’ll show you, if you’ll follow.” 

He phrases it almost like a joke. Shay narrows both eyes at him before getting up from her spot and dusting her knees off. A thin layer of canyon dirt flutters to the ground at the pat of her weather-worn hands. 

Joshua doesn’t wait for her to say anything more, but rather turns around to head in the direction he came from. They walk in silence for a time, the sounds of the camp growing further and further away. The full moon illuminates the path ahead for them. A feeling of unease settles in Shay’s stomach. 

“This seems like a pretty elaborate plan to get me alone,” Shay fills the silence, her tongue feeling heavy and awkward in her mouth. “I have to warn you I’m a pretty loud screamer. If you try anything funny they’ll be able to hear it in New Vegas.” 

Joshua doesn’t dignify her jokes with a response. She coughs awkwardly as she watches him walk in front of her. 

“Nothing?” She asks. 

“You speak often yet say little. What could I say that would please you?” 

When he says it, it feels a bit like a slap across the face. She knew that she could be a real pain in the ass, but rarely had someone ever said it so plainly to her. “I don’t know—do you know any knock knock jokes?” 

“Not all of us have the gift of the gab you possess, courier.” Joshua says as he glances at her briefly, craning his neck to meet her eyes. She offers him a toothy, fake smile before he turns back to focus on the path ahead of them. That much was true, at least. 

They walk without speaking for a time, the only sounds accompanying them were the overly-loud crickets and the babbling of the river at their feet. Shay thinks of how serene it seemed in comparison to Vegas. What would normally be sounds of women crying or dogs barking, guns blazing were replaced by sounds they probably heard before the bombs fell. The peace of nature. It makes her jealous of those stupid people with their petty squabbles and minuscule problems. She would trade any of it just to have a day of peace and quiet—a barbecue in the backyard or Sunday church.

Finally, after walking for nearly an hour, Joshua stops at a distinctly-shaped rock and kneels in front of it. Shay peers at him, stares at the unique bend in his back, the way his broad shoulders sloped evenly. It would be easy to get the jump on him right now, to latch on like an animal and try to take him down. He would certainly be able to counter her, would probably slam her on her back and put a bullet in her already-addled brain. All things considered, being killed by the so-called ‘Burned Man’ would be a pretty poetic way to go. Shay winces at her own thoughts.

“I found these for you,” Joshua says as he holds something in his hand. He turns around to face her and stand up in the process. “Your handgun is unique. You should take care of it.” 

Shay blinks, then looks down at what he’s holding. A repair kit of some sort and two boxes of 9mm bullets. It had been so difficult to find ammo out here for Maria. She swallows thickly. 

“I—“ Shay clears her throat. It was a clear peace offering, she just didn’t think he cared enough to attempt it. It was a little kind and entirely unexpected. “Thank you.” 

She grabs the kit and the boxes from his hands, suddenly acutely aware of the feeling of the gun tucked in the back of her pants. Joshua doesn’t respond as he places his hands back at his sides. 

“Do you want to see it?” Shay asks him. He seemed a bit of a gun nut when they had first met, and he would often eye the pistol whenever she had it out. 

Joshua hums what seems to be a ‘yes’. Shay smiles at him. “I show you mine, you show me yours?” 

“Very well.” He says, and Shay can detect the slight hint of hesitation in his voice, before watching him slowly reach down to unholster his pistol. Joshua grabs the gun then holds it out to her, grip-side facing her. She mirrors his movement, grabbing Maria and handing it over to him by the grip. They trade, and Shay holds the pistol up closer to her, attempting to get a better look in the moonlight. 

The snakeskin feels rather indulgent for a man such as Joshua, but maybe Shay doesn’t know him as well as the stories had informed her. Maybe he, like everyone else, was due their indulgences sometimes. It is a beautiful gun. Shay runs her calloused fingers across the inscription. 

“What does it mean?” She asks, without looking up at him. 

“‘And the light shineth in the darkness and the darkness comprehended it not’. It’s a quote—“ 

“From the Bible? My dad used to read it to me.” 

Joshua is silent for a moment and when she looks up, he is staring at her. 

“Yes. From the Bible.” 

Warmth blooms in Shay’s chest when she thinks of her father—his bushy mustache, his big, belly laugh, the way he would gesture wildly when he would tell her stories. He would read scripture to her at night, before she would go to bed. To her, they were bedtime stories, but she knew they meant more to him whenever he would kiss the cross he wore around his neck. If only he could see her now. See the sin she reaped every day. 

“Courier?” Joshua’s voice distracts Shay from her thoughts. She blinks at him with wide, owl eyes. 

“Sorry,” Shay says as she moves to hand the gun back to him. “I was thinking.” 

Joshua runs his bandaged fingers over the pearl figure on the side of Maria. “An interesting choice to decorate a handgun with.” 

“It’s from the south—Mexico I think.” 

“Yes,” Joshua says as he hands it back to her carefully. They trade once more. “Did it always belong to you?” 

Shay scoffs, thinks of how cold Benny’s fingers were when she pried it from his dead grasp. “No. I took it from the guy who shot me.” 

Joshua is silent for a moment, they both are. Any thoughts lost to the night in front of them. She thinks of Benny and the way he would smirk at her, like he knew that he could get her. Like he knew that she would bend if he was kind enough or charming enough. She looks at Joshua, feels the weight of the gifts he had given her in her pack. His words weren’t honeyed like Benny’s. His gifts to her were not syrupy and empty words. If Joshua wanted to kill her, he would at least be honest about it. 

“God has a way of returning things back to where they belong, back to the path they were meant to be on.” Joshua says gesturing vaguely to the gun now holstered in Shay’s belt. She smirks at him, realizing that she hasn’t felt on edge in his company since they arrived here. 

“Does that only apply to guns or people too?” 

Joshua looks at her, then at the path back to camp. “People especially.” 

They head back together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I know next-to-nothing about guns? Because I really don't know anything about guns. Regardless, thanks for all the feedback, kudos, and comments on the first chapter! I am incredibly nervous to write a character like Joshua, and even more nervous to tell the story of him and Shay, so hearing feedback is always appreciated. Thanks again for reading! See you soon :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some substance use in this chapter

Shay had been fucked up before. There had been booze and drugs and smoke and whatever else the universe thought to throw at her to addle her senses. She had stumbled down the strip, clinging to Boone’s sleeve, bile in the back of her throat. She had laid in bed for a whole day, watching old stories play out on the ceiling. 

But she had never experienced anything as strong as White Bird’s concoction. 

The world is blown out in bright colors, purples and yellows that Shay usually only saw in her dreams. The sky is 15 different colors, the ground shifting as she steps on it. She can hear the Bighorners baying in her ears, so loud and so close. The calfs had always sounded so distressed. 

_“Shayla, go help your father let the calfs in! It’s too cold at night for them!”_

It was her mother’s voice calling out to her, reverberating in the canyon like a bad song. Shay balls up her fists, cups her ears, tries to block out the sound. But it’s in her head. Like everything else in the universe right now. 

Her skin prickles like an itch on the inside, and when she looks down she sees the spikes of a cactus sticking out of her flesh—thin and white and _sharp._ Like if she were to touch anything or anyone they would poke out and injure both herself and the offending party. She rubs at her skin, dry palms hurriedly pushed against the skin of her arms. It was to no avail. The prickly spikes don’t budge, firmly planted in her flesh. 

Shay rushes to the water, that beautiful river that had led her in, that had led her to Zion. 

_“Shayla stop this. You’ll get your boots wet.”_

“I’ll be fine,” She tells her mother’s voice. “I need to get these off of me.” 

The spikes are protruding from her boots now, the sleeves of her dark flannel, the deep, black denim of her pants. Every part of her is blooming now, the pink of her elbows turning to the flower of the desert cactus, her palms like white petals. When she finally gets to the water it is cool, and she is covered with patchwork petals. Her heart is pounding so fast, she is sure the entire valley can hear the thumping. 

Shay closes her eyes, pushes her fingers up against them, willing the images of her body covered in cactus away. Behind closed lids, she sees trickling patterns, water rushing behind her eyelids to match the water rushing in the river. There could be no peace. She kneels in the water, feels the silty sink of her knees in the riverbed. She is now chest-deep in the water, tendrils of her petals and thorns swaying in the current. 

One of the songs from the radio plays in time with the rush of the water, one of those old, crooning voices that trickled into the ear, that creeped down your spine. The voice gets louder, closer, almost directly in her ear now. He might be saying her name, if she didn’t know any better. No, not her name. 

“Courier,” It’s Joshua’s voice, she can tell that now. Shay places her hands down into the water and opens her eyes. He towers above her, maybe 10 feet tall. The white of his bandages are stark against the light pink sky. Was it dawn or dusk? “Can you stand?” 

Shay looks around at herself, notices that her skin is no longer covered in petals and thorns. Her clothes are soaked, her socks uncomfortably wet. 

“What time is it?” When she asks, her voice is so dry and hoarse from disuse, in her head, she almost sounds like him. Shay’s stomach turns, an uncomfortable rumble in the pit of her abdomen. 

“Just a little over sunrise. Where have you been?” 

Shay blinks up at him. He hasn’t offered to help her up yet. Rude. 

“I’ve been here,” Shay says as she slowly brings herself up, hoisting herself up to the best of her ability. It feels like an old ship, the way her bones creak with each movement. Water drips off of her. “With the Bighorners.” 

Joshua blinks at her, scans the area around her. Wherever the Bighorners had been, they were no longer here. Shay frowns. They had been there, she was sure of it. Perhaps, she had scared them away when she was turning into a cactus. 

Something in Shay’s knee twitches, a sudden pinching sensation that seems to pull her tendon forward and try to bring her down. Before she can fall face first in the water, strong hands grab her by the elbows, hold her up like a marionette doll. Bandaged fingers hold onto Shay’s soaked arms. She looks up at him, the sharp blue of his eyes seems brighter, bigger, like everything else around them. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, words like cotton in the mouth. “Does it hurt?” 

“It always hurts. You could do no worse than I’ve already done to myself.”

He pulls Shay into a standing position and makes sure she’s steady before letting go. The absence of his hands makes her teeter for a moment, but she takes a deep breath and tries to feel the earth beneath her boots, the water trickling past her calves. The noise of it is so loud, rushing through her ears like blood whenever she would stand up too fast. She blinks up at the man in front of her. Joshua stares at her evenly. She narrows her eyes at him. 

“What happened to you?” 

He doesn’t respond. “You haven’t returned to camp in some time. We were beginning to worry something had happened.” 

“Why were you worried? You don’t like me.” Shay’s mouth feels heavy, the words come clumsily to form. “I’m a stranger, and I hate you.” 

A moment follows, heavy in its silence. She said something wrong, but which part of it? 

“I harbor no ill will toward you, Courier.” 

“My name is Shay.” The water is cold against her soaked-jeans. 

“You-“ Joshua cuts himself off, swallows back whatever he was about to say. Shay wishes she had that ability, that skill to stop yourself and close your mouth. She coughs, feels the sickly sweet flavor of that god forsaken tea still on her tongue. She gags. 

“Come back to camp with me, Shay.” Joshua tells her. 

The sound of her name on his tongue makes something in her stomach clench uncomfortably—the rasp of his voice crawls down from the tips of her ears to the base of her spine. Like the fauna earlier, she can feel it on her skin. 

He turns from her, his form returning to normal size now that she can see the writing on the back of his vest. She traces the slope of his shoulders with her eyes, wonders if he knew that she was afraid of him. He had to know. 

As they begin their journey back to camp, Shay finds her eyes wandering back to Joshua. The colors begin to fade to their normal hues, and while the sounds still seem amplified to her, the visual effects of the tea seem to be wearing off. The fog in her head begins to clear out, though she doesn’t feel completely clear. The sun begins its ascent in the sky. It still hangs low, but the early morning pinks and oranges fade to the cool blue of daytime. Joshua is a dark figure against the morning sky in front of her. Shay’s boots squelch uncomfortably full of river water. She takes a deep breath and jogs a bit to catch up with him. 

“I’m sorry,” she says as she comes up next to him. Joshua spares a glance over at her, stopping in his tracks. “I said something wrong earlier, I think.” 

“I understand you had some of White Bird’s tea. Hallucinogenic beverages aside, I don’t believe you meant what you said to me. If you did, I could hardly fault you for it—though I would advise against drinking strange concoctions from people you don’t know.” 

Shay frowns at him. “Have you had it?” 

“No.” It’s a simple enough answer, enough to kill the conversation on the spot. There’s not much to supplement that with, so Shay scoffs and begins to walk again, feeling more confident on her feet as the effects of the tea were beginning to fade faster. 

The pair continue on in silence, the sounds of the denizens of Zion waking up accompany their journey back to the camp. The Bighorners were beginning their morning graze, and Shay watches as a calf wanders away from its mother toward a particularly juicy patch of yucca fruit. She smiles at the creature, it’s twisted features still young enough to be considered ‘cute’. 

When they finally arrive back the camp, Shay is feeling back to normal, the fog almost entirely dissipated from her mind. A lingering soreness aches in the joints between her muscles, and her stomach churns as she realizes she hasn’t eaten since the morning before. Joshua turns to her at the entrance of the camp. 

“It was hatred you expressed earlier. You told me you hated me,” he explains to her. Shay blinks at him, sure it was something she said. Yes, in a state of confused inebriation her mouth would often get her into trouble. She can’t even count the number of times she would get a punch thrown at her over a comment at the bar. “I don’t believe that you do.” 

Shay swallows a lump in her throat. “You seem quite sure of that.” 

“You wear everything on your sleeve, Courier,” he is using her title again, and it makes her frown deepen. “It’s an admirable quality, however hard you may try to suppress it. If you truly hated me I don’t think we would be speaking the way that we are.” 

Shay blinks, wondering how and when he had gotten such a read on her. Maybe she had given away more than she had thought in her three weeks here in Zion, or maybe he was right and she really gave herself away so easily. The thought that anyone of her enemies or friends or lovers could see so easily whatever she was feeling sends an uncomfortable lurch in her stomach. 

“There are still things I keep.” She finally answers, though it feels inadequate and fumbling. 

“Yes,” Joshua crosses his arms. “Though I think it would soothe your spirit to bring them forth. Tucking things away to make them less ugly will only bring more pain.” 

Shay scoffs. “Cheap words from a guy covered in bandages.” 

Joshua’s eyes narrow, and she wonders if this is the first time she is going to incur his wrath. But his tone is even, neutral. “I know what I am, Courier.” 

The two stand in silence, caught in a standoff in the knee-high water of the river. It feels cold against her legs, colder than it did now that the tea had worn off. Goosebumps rise on the back of her arms from the sudden shift in temperature. 

“It wasn’t you, was it?” She suddenly asks. When she thinks of the man standing at the edge of her family’s farm, she can’t see him there. Can’t put a Joshua-shaped body in the blank space there. It wasn’t him, not his voice, not his form, not his anything. She can see that now, standing across from him in the water. 

“Would it matter? It could have been any village. Any child.” Joshua asks the question, and his voice is full of an emotion Shay cannot place. Somehow he knows what Shay is referring to. He was strange like that. Shay looks down at her feet, the current of the river distorting the image of her boots in the water.

“It would matter to me,” she says, looking back up at him. “I don’t hate you.” 

A long look passes between the two of them, long enough for Shay to feel scared, nervous, then finally settling into a feeling of tentative calm. She doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t feel like she can for whatever reason. 

His response is simple, said in a voice softer than she has heard before. “Thank you.” 

He walks away from her with this, a gentleness she would never anticipate from him, of all people. Shay stares after him, feet in the cool water, sun rising ever higher in the sky. It is enough, she thinks. For now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left out the bear fight--I'm sorry. If it were true to my playthrough, it would just be Shay getting killed by a giant, flaming bear about ten times. So here's some non-bear related drama instead! Thanks again for the kudos and feedback. It is more helpful than you know! See you soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blood/violence in this chapter

There had been one or two things that Shay had been able to anticipate encountering in Zion. She knew there would be wildlife, Yao Guai and Bighorners and the bugs— _ugh,_ the bugs. She also knew there would be Zion’s residents, the folks who lived in the canyon. She had no idea there would be territory disputes and dead men walking and White Legs with deadly intent. 

The sun is high in the sky, the heat high for what should have been an autumn afternoon. Shay and Waking Cloud made plans to scope out one of the old caves, one of those caches left behind by Randall Clarke. She thinks of him like a guide, though as time goes on, the entries become harder and harder to read. 

The White Legs found them first, ambushing the two women in a flurry of movement and sound. They’re awfully close to the Sorrows’ camp, which is Shay’s first thought before getting shot at. 

She can hear the sudden rush of Waking Cloud ducking and weaving in between the court White Legs, the swiftness of the woman shocking even to Shay. She slices one man through the tendon, ducking low to reach. It’s an ugly thing, but it gets the job done as he falls to the ground, screaming in pain. Shay grabs Maria, aims the gun at the White Leg nearest to her. She lets a shot off, feels the reverberating pang from her hand to her shoulder. It nicks him against the shoulder, and she briefly watches as he gasps, cringes and examines his shoulder. She squints an eye, aims at his turned head and fires. 

Waking Cloud moves like a blur next to her, leaving only two men left. Shay turns toward the one man, but is suddenly struck by a blinding pain. It erupts from somewhere on her side, spreads and blooms like a fire through her being. She had felt it before—no, she hadn’t really felt it that time. This time it is searing, a bullet in the body. Shay drops to her knees, can’t even feel the earth beneath her legs. She grabs at the bleeding wound in her side, feels the warm stickiness of her own blood dripping between her fingers. She pushes at it hard, but the pain only intensifies until her vision starts to blur, vignetting her sight like an old painting. Waking Cloud kills the last two men, somehow avoiding the bullets unlike Shay whose pain was becoming so sharp and intense that her stomach threatens to upend the morning’s meager breakfast. Shay can feel the other woman’s hands on her shoulder and she wonders if this is where she dies. 

Surviving a bullet to the head only to get killed by a bullet in the side. Could there be a crueler irony? 

Waking Cloud’s voice is close in her ear, soft and urgent. Shay can’t make out the details, losing them as swiftly as the blood pours from her side. The world goes dark, quickly like a candle snuffed out. 

* * *

Voices are speaking muted by her, the heat of a campfire warms the right side of her body. Lazy warmth spreads from her head to her toes, a feeling near-euphoric. Shay blinks her eyes open, meeting the night’s sky above her, the rock walls of the canyon. She cranes her neck, feels the way it takes so much longer to move her body. She is laying by the fire at the Sorrows camp. Daniel and Joshua speak in quiet, harsh tones near her. She is wrapped in fur, shoulders bare. Dusty blonde hair splays all around her head which is propped on some kind of makeshift pillow. Words start to crop up, reality starts to overtake the euphoric swimming feeling the painkillers are providing her. 

“They’re too close.” That was Joshua, his deep voice rumbling in Shay’s chest. 

“So we leave,” Daniel replies to him. “I won’t endanger these people any further than we already have.” 

“So they can continue to follow us?” 

“So we can finally be in peace.” 

A pair of strong knees sit close to Shay. Waking Cloud looks down at her with soft eyes. Ever the mother. 

“They take no care. You should be sleeping and they argue.” She says, looking from Shay then back and forth between the two arguing men. A look of disapproval crosses her strong feature, and Shay smiles lazily up at her. 

“Thank you for bringing me back here.” Shay whispers to her, her throat far too sore to be at full volume. 

“No need for thanks,” Waking Cloud says softly. “I brought soup.” She places a bowl of something brown and hearty next to Shay on the ground. The older woman smiles down at her. 

“Thank you,” Shay says. She doesn’t dare lean up to take a sip, and truthfully, she might just throw it up in a while anyway, but the sentiment was kind, and Shay won’t let that go unnoticed. “I’ll have it in a bit.” 

“Yes,” Waking Cloud says. She glances up at the two men again. “Try to rest. Tune them out.” 

Shay chuckles, and the sound startles the conversation to a halt. Daniel and Joshua both glance at Shay, and she tries to offer them both a weak smile. 

“I’m fine.” 

Daniel speaks up first, Joshua just stares. “Courier, I’m sorry if we woke you. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I need a drink,” Shay says groggily, the drugs making her tongue heavy. “Or ten.” 

Nobody says anything. Right, nobody here drank. 

Waking Cloud is the first to break the awkward silence. “Courier needs rest, we should leave her to it.” 

Daniel nods at the woman, stands up and brushes his pants off. Joshua doesn’t move, eyes still fixed on Shay. If the others think it’s strange they don’t say anything. Waking Cloud is the first to step away, though Daniel hesitates. 

“Joshua,” he says, strained. “Let’s give her some space.” 

Joshua finally speaks up, not looking at the other man. “I’d like a word with her.” 

“Joshua.” Daniel grits out the other man’s name, so tense that Shay thinks he might be grinding his teeth. He clenches his jaw when Joshua finally looks up at the standing man. 

“Just a word.” 

The two are caught, neither one wanting to acquiesce to the other. Joshua has the clear advantage still sitting firmly on the ground. Daniel stares down at the pair, his fists held close to his sides. Shay’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of them. She clears her throat. 

“I’d like to speak with Joshua,” Shay tells Daniel. “I don’t mind.” 

It was kind of a lie, Shay didn’t really want to speak with anyone right now, much preferring the drug-addled dreams she could be having. But she didn’t have a clear idea of what had happened to her, at how the White Legs had gotten the jump on her and Waking Cloud. If anyone wouldn’t fuss over her, if anyone would get straight to business, she knew it was Joshua. 

“Fine,” Daniel says finally. “Eat that soup.” He points down at the bowl sitting next to her before turning on his heel and walking toward the back of the camp, further into the canyon. 

As the two sit alone, Shay cranes her neck to look over at Joshua, sees the way he sits with a knee up in front of the fire, elbow slung over his leg. What could have been considered a casual pose was somehow still taut, wound tightly together on alert. Her cheek feels warm from the fire. He catches her looking and meets her eyes. 

“They were too close to camp.” He finally says. She blinks at him. He was right, they were too close. 

“I know,” Shay answers him. “We had no idea they would be there.” 

“You were lucky there were only four of them.” 

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” Shay turns to look back up at the night sky, watches the way the smoke trails up into the stars. It’s beautiful, but that may just be the drugs talking. “I guess I am still alive.” 

Neither of them say anything for a time, and just when Shay thinks she’ll drift off to sleep, Joshua’s voice interrupts her. 

“We need to stop them. I hope that we may count on your help, when the times comes.” 

There is something eerily similar in his tone, something that reminds Shay of the way she felt when she had woken up from getting shot in the head. She needed to find Benny, and then she found him, killed him, and even when everything changed, nothing did. Shay blinks, feels the prickle of tears behind her eyes.

“You would lose a lot of people.” She replies, still not looking at him. 

“We have already lost so much,” Joshua says, his voice distant. She knows he is thinking of New Canaan. “I will not lose more.” 

What was _we_ quickly turns to _I._ Shay sighs, a heavy weight settling on her chest. It constricts her heart, squeezes like a tightly-wound fist. The people here deserved a home, a place to settle down and begin something. It wasn’t fair of her to come in and try to stop them to suit her sensibilities. Something warm and sticky seeps from her side, and she realizes that it’s her wound. 

“Oh,” she says quietly. “I’m leaking.” 

Joshua looks over at her before standing up and walking toward her. A few strides and he is at her side, towering above her in the moonlight. He leans down, crouches at her side. Tentatively, he lifts the furs off of her form. It’s worse than she had thought. 

The bandages that they had used earlier were already seeped through with blood, despite how tightly they were wound around her midsection. Waking Cloud must have ripped up her flannel to stop the bleeding, as the offending cloth was nowhere to be found now. She feels uncomfortably bare in the moon’s light, in the fire’s warmth. 

“We need to re-dress the wound. Sterilize it again.” 

Shay stares at him, blinks down at the bloodied bandages. 

“Can you do it?” She asks. 

She doesn’t really know where the question comes from, isn’t sure what possesses her to ask him. A week ago she wouldn’t have trusted him as far as she could throw him, and now she was asking him to bandage her wound. But he did this every day, so who would be a better option?

Joshua looks down at her, meets her eyes. “Yes. I’ll get some gauze.” 

When he walks away, Shay wonders why he said yes, wonders why she asked, wonders why any of this is happening at all. Somehow, in all this, she was beginning to trust him. There was no other explanation. She knows that she isn’t really afraid of him anymore, at least not in the way she had been when she first arrived. Her stomach rumbles. 

Joshua returns shortly after, a fresh pack of bandages in his hand. He crouches down next to her again and she watches the rise and fall of his shoulders. 

“This will hurt.” Is all he offers. Shay nods at him, which signals him to begin. His hands reach down to the gauze around her side, and she feels the way his fingers find the edge they are looking for. It’s hard with her lying down, so she arches her back upwards to let him get a better hold of the old bandage. However, in the movement, she realizes the closeness, the proximity to him that had not been there before. If the movement phases him, he doesn’t show it, his shoulders rising and falling steadily, his fingers working swiftly yet carefully. 

“Are you in pain?” Joshua asks her, his eyes still on the act of unwrapping the old bandage. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary for a bleeding bullet wound.” 

“Try to breathe deeply. Your breathing is uneven.” 

Shay reddens at that. It wasn’t him, it had just been so long since anyone had really touched her. 

When the bandage is fully off and the wound is exposed to the open night air, the cold of it is such a shock that a wave of pain wracks through Shay’s body. She hisses through clenched teeth, feeling the cold burn of the fresh wound. Sticky blood congeals to her skin. 

“The bullet is still in there isn’t it?” She grits out. 

“Yes, fragments of it at least,” Joshua is staring at the open wound, his fingers unconsciously lingering on Shay’s midsection. “I fear removing it would only cause further damage.” 

Shay winces. The pain is becoming unbearable. “Great.” 

Joshua meets her eyes, and she thinks for a moment she can almost see a look of pity there. “Better than a bullet in the head, I would think.” 

She almost laughs.

“Was that a joke?” 

“In an attempt to distract from the pain,” Joshua looks back down at the wound, then begins to prep some sort of sterilization mixture that the Sorrows and the Dead Horses used for bullet wounds. Shay had seen Waking Cloud use it before on a bullet that had grazed her leg. He preps a cloth with the liquid. “It will only get worse.” 

“ _That_ wasn’t a joke.” Shay blanches at the cloth in his hands. 

“No.” Joshua places the cloth over her wound and begins to sterilize it. It is a searing pain, worse than any alcohol she had felt before. The sting of it was so potent and so strong she could feel it in every limb, despite the painkillers they had put her on earlier. She won’t scream, but she can’t help but let out a low groan, one that starts in her chest and erupts from her throat like a curse. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of stinging, Joshua removes the cloth. Shay can see the old blood on it. Was all of that her’s? 

She watches as he prepares the new gauze with a steady hand, the stinging of her now-sterile wound slowly fading to a more dull sensation. 

“I appreciate this.” Shay tells him weakly. He meets her gaze briefly, his hands stopping. 

“You shouldn’t speak,” Joshua tells her firmly. “Save your energy.” 

In any other situation, Shay might have told him kindly to shove it, but as it stands, she can feel the tiredness seep into her bones, can feel the alluring call of a good night’s sleep. 

Joshua begins to wrap the new gauze, pressing it tightly against the wound so as to slow the bleeding. Shay lazily watches his hands as he works, sees the way his touches are light, almost afraid to spend too much time on her bared skin. Was it because of the pain? Perhaps he felt unclean touching her skin in such a way. Did he even have such thoughts, as a man?

“I’m sorry-“ 

“Shay,” Joshua interrupts her, his voice hard. “Save your energy.” 

She shuts her mouth and closes her eyes. Despite the closeness of his hands healing her, he still feels so far away. She feels as though she is reaching out across a chasm of emptiness to try and connect to him. It was so difficult to even have a normal conversation with him. 

Drifting through these thoughts lulls Shay to a semi-awake state. She is barely aware of it when Joshua finishes his task of re-bandaging her, and though he leaves, the comfort of his warmth at her side is replaced with the warm fur being draped over her form again, tucked gently up against her chin. The tenderness of the action is lost on Shay in her half-sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness.

When she awakes in cool dawn of the morning, light blue light barely illuminating the camp, every part of her is warm besides her face, the gift of warmth granted by a man familiar with fire. Shay leans up, finally able to move her body comfortably, and lifts the blanket draped across her. Her wound still aches, painkillers long worn off, but it has bled considerably less than last time, and she would probably be able to change the gauze herself this time. She looks across the camp, sees a few sleeping bodies here and there, but no one is awake quite yet. Joshua and Daniel are nowhere to be seen. Shay splays her fingers in the dirt next to her, surprised when her pinky touches something hard—a book. It was Joshua’s scripture, left behind last night when he had left her. 

Shay is unsure whether it was intentionally left for her or not, perhaps in an attempt to quell her impending boredom of bedrest. She lifts the book up, runs a slender finger along the spine. She opens it, lifts it up to her nose and takes a deep breath, savoring the old-world smell of paper pages. It’s tinged with something else, maybe the grease Joshua would use on his gun. 

Shay flickers forward to a page, straining her eyes to read in the early morning light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite long, but I couldn't help myself. I started and I just couldn't stop. I am a sucker for the post-battle, patchup intimacy. I live for it. Thanks again for the feedback/comments/kudos etc! It is really appreciated. See you soon!


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week now, since Shay had been shot by one of the White Legs. The wound in her side was healing quite well thanks to steady and careful first aid work supplanted by the Sorrows. Their dedication to keeping her on her feet brings Arcade to mind. 

_“You have a terribly keen knack to getting hurt.” Arcade says as he injects a stimpak into Shay’s arm._

_She smiles at him. “That’s what I keep you around for, you know.”_

Shay wonders what he was doing right now, if he was still at the Lucky 38, agonizing with the others over whether or not she was dead in a valley somewhere. A sickly feeling drops in her stomach as she realizes that Arcade is probably back with the Followers, Shay existing as nothing more than a fond memory in his mind. Whatever she was planning in Zion, she had to get it done soon, before every trace she had left in the Mojave was wiped away. 

It had been a while since she had seen Joshua, and it was beginning to make her wonder whether or not he was intentionally avoiding her. She hadn’t seen him since that night he had patched her up. Realistically, she wanted to speak with him about what his plan was. The way he had spoken about going after the White Legs had unsettled her that night, set an uncomfortable twinge in the pit of her belly. 

So she snuffs her cigarette out, grinding it firmly in the dirt beneath her worn boots, and heads toward the center of camp. A few folks wave at her as she passes, and she offers warm smiles at them on the way. It was a strange thing. Never in a million years back home would she want to be recognized by anyone, especially considering the amount of people back in the Mojave that wanted her dead. Here, though, it felt warm, comfortable. It was all so appealing—the clean water, the rainy nights, the sense of camaraderie forged over hard work in the sun. She wishes she could stay, sometimes. 

Shay approaches one of the caves in the camp, a young man sitting cross-legged in front it. He holds something leafy and dried in his hands, tying it together with a piece of twine. His fingers work with delicate deftness. Shay watches. 

“Hm?” He looks up at her, youthful features hidden behind a tired face. 

Shay points in the cave. “Joshua?” 

He nods, gestures for her to go inside. Was Joshua expecting her? 

Entering the cave, Shay can feel a dip in temperature. The damp, dewy-ness of the cave walls making the air humid and cool. Droplets of water echo off the walls. The cave eventually opens up to a larger, central area with a picnic table, a cot for sleeping, and a hastily crafted lean-to. Torches light the wall, cast dancing shadows on the red rock. At the table, cleaning a gun with a dirty cloth, lit by the soft, warm light of a lantern, is Joshua. 

“Were you expecting me?” Shay asks from across the room. He doesn’t look up from his work, but holds a hand up and gestures for her to come further in. Shay furrows her brow and steps forward, drawn to the warmth that the torches were providing. She watches his back as she approaches, sees the steady rise and fall of his broad shoulders, the strain in his neck as he looks down at the gun in his hands. 

She takes a spot across from him, swings her legs awkwardly over the bench of the picnic table, boots clunking against the wood. If Joshua is disturbed by her noises, he makes no motion of it, eyes focused steadily on the work in front of him. 

A thought crosses Shay’s mind. 

“Your book,” Shay reaches for her back pocket, fumbling as she sits. “I still have it.” 

Joshua finally looks up at her, his eyes a hazy blue in the torchlight. “Did you read it?” 

“A few passages. It’s a bit…different than the one I had as a kid.” 

“Yes, there are different iterations of similar stories. There is great value in broadening one’s knowledge of the Lord. The one you’re most familiar with may have been longer—books from newer testaments.” 

“Sure,” Shay places the book down on the table between them. “My favorite was always Noah’s Ark—with the animals.” 

Joshua pauses. “You mock me.” 

“No, I mean it,” Shay blanches. “It was my favorite.” 

He stares at her, probably trying to gauge whether or not she was lying about mocking him. Shay wasn’t always the best at sincerity, so it was hard sometimes to make people believe she was genuine. She smiles at him, hoping it doesn’t come across forced. His eyes meet her’s, travel toward her lips, come back up to meet again.

“Did your parents have animals?” He asks. 

Her smile softens as she thinks of that little ranch her parents took such good care of over the years. “Yes. We had Bighorners and Brahmin. A dog. One of those bird things that can’t fly. They’re kind of fat.” 

“A chicken?” He inquires. 

“A rooster—big red, dangly thing off his neck.” 

He nods, looks back down at the gun and rag in his hands. Shay watches as he gets back to work, his cleaning work intricate and slow, detailed and deliberate. Her mind drifts to the animals again—the rooster crowing in the morning. She thinks of the morning it happened, thinks of the way the rooster’s crowing had turned to a bloody screech, stark and red against the light of day. Those men had killed all the animals. Heifers and calfs bleeding out in the hot sun, dark blood caking the dry earth. She squints her eyes shut, tries to will the memory out of her mind. 

“‘But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you’,” Joshua speaks softly, his eyes still on his gun. “‘Or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this? In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.’” 

Shay blinks at him, marvels at his ability to recall every word with such ease. He looks up at her again. 

“Would you like to clean with me?” 

It’s such a simple question after such a loaded moment, Shay almost thinks she hears him wrong at first, but then he reaches out with a spare rag and places it on the table between them. Shay glances down at it before reaching in her back holster to grab Maria. She checks the gun for rounds, then goes on to disassemble it, taking the cloth and cleaning what she can. The barrel requires a smaller brush, which she assumes they lack, so she sets that aside for a moment. The work is clean and good, something to keep the hands busy and the mind empty, and Shay can see the appeal for a man whose mind must be running on all cylinders all the time. The thought occurs to her that her mind _also_ was frequently running on all cylinders. She feels eyes on her. 

Joshua is watching her hands, much like she had been watching his earlier. There is that tension in his neck again, she can see by the way the muscle pulls taut.

“They can’t ambush us like that again.” He finally says. It seems a sharp turn of conversation, so much so that Shay doesn’t even know how to respond at first. 

She swallows then absentmindedly touches the wound on her side. Joshua’s eyes follow the movement. “We’re in agreement there.” 

“The time may be upon us soon,” Joshua says. “I’ve been planning—something you and I can lead the charge with. Though your injury may prove to hold us back for some time yet.” 

“It’s already feeling a lot better,” Shay feels defensive. Was that why he was avoiding her? Locking himself away in this cave, attempting to come up with convoluted battle plans, like in the old days? “I’ll be ready to go in a week tops.” 

“I assume your wound has healed well then,” Joshua says. “I will trust your judgement.”

“Yes,” Shay smiles again, smaller, more muted this time. “Thanks again for patching me up.” 

“I know the work well.” 

Shay studies the bandages all over his body, wonders how often he must have to change them, wonders at the man underneath. Would he be mottled like a ghoul? Or simply red all over? It was hard to gauge when all she had to go off of was skin around his eyes, on his fingers. She realizes she’s been staring, and he’s expecting her to say something. 

“Sorry I—“ she stops herself. “Do you really have to do that every day?” 

“Yes.” His hands lay flat on the table, gun and cloth ignored. 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Shay thinks of all the bullet wounds she had ever received, the way the air felt when it would touch them for the first time, the cold shock of fresh wind on an open wound. A burn must have been so much worse. 

“As much as it did on the first day. It is better to be clean than comfortable.” 

Shay frowns at him. “I have stimpaks, med-x, if you’d like.”

“Painkillers have no effect, and I wouldn’t wish to use them anyway,” Joshua looks at her, something soft in his eyes. “Though it matters that you thought to offer.” 

Something about the warmth of torchlight in the cave, the proximity with which they sit with one another, their quiet voices in the otherwise empty cave has fostered a sense of comfort in Shay, a feeling she hasn’t felt in his presence before. It’s a delicate thing, soft like a butterfly in the palm, but the feeling is so potent it makes Shay smile. 

Joshua picks his gun back up, cleaning what else he can, and the pair fall into a comfortable silence not long after. It was an odd feeling, to be sitting across from him so quietly, not feeling the need to fill the silence with anything. It reminds Shay of the Mojave back home, of Boone and his long stretches of quiet. She would rib him, say something stupid and provocative to try and get a reaction. He would never take the bait. 

A twinge of sadness pulls at her heart, makes her hand skip on her gun. She missed Boone.

“Here,” Joshua places something on the table between them, abruptly interrupting her thoughts. “For your barrel.” 

“Oh,” Shay picks up the small brush he had put out—the perfect size. “Thank you.”

“You should keep the book too,” Joshua gestures to the Bible in the middle of them on the table. “Something to read for sleepless nights. Something to reflect on.” 

“Isn’t it your’s?” 

“I have more,” Joshua places a hand on the cover. “I thought you would appreciate this one more than the one I read most often. The language is more accessible—informal.” 

In its own way, it’s a very thoughtful gift. She had never had a Bible when she was growing up, choosing instead to let her father read from his. It never felt important enough to have her own, to her it was just a story book after all. Shay wonders if Joshua can see through her like that, if he knows that she doesn’t believe like he does. Very few believed as he did, probably. 

“You’ve been generous today,” Shay jokes. “Do you need something from me?” 

Joshua places his hands in his lap, stares down at them for a moment before meeting her gaze directly once more. “Waking Cloud explained to me that you were feeling homesick or, rather, that you missed your companions back home. I wanted you to understand that we are grateful for your help here. I am grateful for your willingness to help with the White Legs—for your presence here.” 

Heat warms Shay’s face, an uncomfortable and foreign feeling rising in her chest. “Sheesh, you sure know how to sweet talk a girl.” 

“My words are not empty.” 

Shay holds her hands out, palms up in surrender. “I know, I was just joking.” 

Joshua studies her, no doubt surveying the dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Even in laughter, the heart is sorrowful.” 

“That doesn’t sound good.” Shay is trying to keep this light, but it’s becoming harder and harder. She feels that chasm opening up again, that space between them that she was just beginning to bridge is cracking open once more. 

“I hope you may find balance, Shay,” Joshua stands up, re-holsters his gun. How long had he been done cleaning? “To keep your heart light, to move past the sorrow. You are still so young.” 

And with that, he leaves, footsteps echoing coldly off the cave walls. His book and his brush and his cloth still lay on the table in front of her like some sort of offering. Shay stares after his form, feeling suspiciously like she had just been the victim of a sneak attack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so there are about a million different versions of the Bible. I wasn't sure how strictly Joshua's character adhered to the Latter Day Saint's book, or if he was just a catchall kinda guy. It is post-apocalyptia regardless so I figured any Christian religious text would do in a pinch, lol. I also added a cave at the Sorrows camp. I think it's strange how they really build up the Dead Horses' camp in the game, then you're only there for a little while before moving on to the Sorrows' camp for the majority of the DLC. Anyways, thanks again for all your kudos and your feedback! It has helped me immensely. See you soon!


	6. Chapter 6

Shay’s skin is naked in the cold water of the river, the current switching back and forth, pulling her forward then dragging her back swiftly. Bare feet scratch on the earth’s surface, on the rocks and pebbles that sit on the riverbed. Her teeth chatter, unusually cold in the valley. She looks up to the moon, wonders why it seems so low and large in the sky—it wasn’t usually that big was it? 

“Shay.” A man calls to her from across the bank, but she can’t see him, moves too slowly to find him across the shore. The current drags her again, knocking her as if she was being punched in the stomach, knocking the air clean out of her lungs. The night air captures her breath in cool clouds. 

She is pulled again, her body adjusting as she notices him approach—Joshua, in all his wrappings, looking taller than he was. He wades through the water toward her, unaffected by the currents. Shay lifts a slow arm up to try and cover some of herself, but its too slow, and she is bare in the too-bright moonlight. Her words don’t come out. Her throat closes up as he gets closer. 

He is right in front of her now, his eyes the same color as the sky that holds the moon. He grabs the nape of her neck, fingers tangling messily in her hair, pushing ever-so-slightly in the back of her neck. His other hand wraps around her throat, this thumb brushing over the skin pulled taut over her clavicle. Shay swallows, the skin burning where he has touched. It happens suddenly then in a series of events that Shay barely has time to register. He leans forward, so close that their noses touch before pushing her toward the water’s surface, dunking her in the cool water of the current, hands still tight around her neck. A finger reaches up underneath the water, brushes her bottom lip. Suddenly, the water is too warm, so warm that Shay feels as though she could be scalding. The hands hold her under. 

And then, it’s over. 

Shay shoots up from her bed roll in camp, lungs struggling for breath, still under the illusion that she was somehow underwater. Shay swallows, realizing that it hadn’t been real, that she was sleeping at camp. 

She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, wonders if the abrupt shock of her waking up had disturbed anyone else. Her spot near the fire was relatively empty, only containing her and another woman. If the other woman had been disturbed, she shows no sign of it. The moon still hangs high in the sky, full on a sticky summer night, and the fire is still crackling. It couldn’t be past midnight. Shay takes a deep breath in, feels the warm air in her lungs. 

“I need a cigarette.” Shay says under her breath. She grabs the thick flannel at the side of her bedroll as she stands up, patting her pockets to ensure everything was in place. Cigs in the back left pocket, Maria in her holster, book in the right pocket. Shay’s hand lingers on the book, its indentation in her pocket a reminder of the dream. She shakes her head, wills the thoughts to go anywhere else, before heading toward the entrance of the camp. 

There had to be a spot not too far off, a spot where she could be alone with her thoughts and her dreams and her cigarettes. She looks down at the water as she walks, stares eerily at the reflection of herself, wonders what it would be like to drown in it. 

Close enough to scream in case of trouble, but far enough that Shay could have some peace, she finally finds a small outcropping of rocks that creates a stone-made canopy in the canyon wall. She leans her back against the rock wall, feels every little jut of stone that digs into her back through her shirt, rolls her boot against the dirt on the ground. Taking out that old lighter she stole off of Benny and then taking out her old pack, Shay dangles one of the cigarettes between her lips then clicks her lighter open with one hand. She lights it, watches the sparks shimmer and die in the air quickly as the tip of her cigarette glows orange. The inhale is slow, savory. When she exhales it feels like all of the air leaves her lungs at once. 

Someone’s boots crunch in the dirt, approaching her from the side. She knows who. 

“Following me?” Shay asks, not bothering to look at the man, not even sure if she could look at him right now. 

Joshua stops his approach briefly. He doesn’t say anything, but begins walking again until he’s standing next to her. Shay can feel his presence at her side, the warmth from his body, the smell of his guns. She spares a glance from the corner of her eyes, immediately regretting it. He’s leaning next to her, mirroring her position against the rock wall—knee bent, leaning on one leg. 

“You could be ambushed out here.” He finally says. 

Shay blows out a puff of smoke. “Oh, so now we can both get ambushed and then get killed and then Daniel’ll have to be the one to defeat all the White Legs? Foolproof stuff here.” 

“You’re agitated.” Joshua says simply. Shay rolls her eyes. Of course she was agitated, but he couldn’t know why. The feeling of his fingers around her neck, on her lip flash through her mind. Infuriating. 

“Bad dream.” 

He crosses his arms. “Do you have them often?” 

Shay spares another glance at him, and he’s looking at her, of course he’s looking at her. While his eyes in her dream were bright and blue, she can see their real color now, still blue but not as bright, more like the waters of the river they stood near. He had asked her a question. 

“Not really,” Shay says, crossing her arms. “Most of the time I don’t dream—too tired. I’ve just had so much time to think here, makes things run around in my head.” 

“I understand. The Mojave is hardly a place to slow down and think. There is a serenity here that I find myself taking for granted. God’s beauty is plentiful here. We do not appreciate His gifts enough.” Joshua says, his voice low in the night. 

Shay breathes out smoke from her nose, eyes returning to the river in front of them. “Would be nice to stay.” 

“Your companions would miss you,” Joshua says plainly. “Your partner.” 

Shay furrows her brows at him. It was so casual of him to say it, to mention the people back in the Mojave, and it’s hard to place them all together in her mind. Joshua then Arcade, then Boone and Rex and Raul—like a puzzle that didn’t fit. 

“Partner?” 

“I assumed,” he says, gestures to her left hand. “You wear a ring.” 

Shay looks down at her hand, notices the dingy opal ring that occupies her ring finger, previously owned by a particularly nasty Fiend woman that had threatened to slice Shay’s neck. She had stolen off the dead woman in an act of petty revenge. Oh right. 

“I’m not married,” she says, holding her hand out. “It’s the only finger the ring fits on, and I liked it so I kept it. Sometimes it keeps creeps away at bars, mostly just there to look nice though.” 

Joshua hums in response, his eyes focused on the opal set in the ring. It was a beautiful stone, though the metal surrounding it had been chipped and dis-colored. Shay liked it that way though. It made the rock stand out more. 

“You ever been married?” She asks. The question only seems strange to Shay after she’s asked it, and the sinking feeling of regret settles in her stomach. It didn’t matter if he was married or not. It didn’t matter if she was married or not. Her eyes flicker to his hands, his fingers and a chill creeps up her spine. 

“No.” Is all that he says, leaving the conversation dead in the night air between them. 

The pair stand in silence for a time, Shay realizing that this might be their new normal. They would have a conversation, she would say something wrong and awkward, and then it would die. 

“I was baptized when I was born,” Shay blurts out, again, unsure why. “I don’t remember obviously, but my dad wanted me to be baptized.” 

Joshua looks at her again, his eyes meeting hers. “He wanted you to be saved, to be one of God’s children. What made you think of baptisms?” 

A rush of warmth to her face makes Shay blush. She lies. “Just going through all the sacraments in my head. Checking them off. Marriage, uhhh, baptism. The one with the bread.” 

“Communion.” 

Shay snaps her fingers. “That’s it.” 

Joshua lets out a breath, sounding almost like a chuckle, but Shay can’t quite be sure when she can’t see his mouth. She smiles at him. The shape of his mouth moves beneath the bandages, as if he were about to say something, but he stops himself. He looks away. Shay wonders what his mouth looked like under the bandages, if he still had lips. 

She shakes her head. 

“We’ll be ready for the White Legs soon,” she says, willing any other thoughts out of her mind. “I’ll be ready.” 

“Their leader—Salt-Upon-Wounds. That will be our priority.” Joshua’s voice lowers, something deep and simmering lurking in his tone. Shay looks at him, and he is holding his body tightly, arms crossed close to his chest, both feet planted straight on the ground. 

“ _Your_ priority, right?” Shay asks. “You’re wound tighter than a Nightstalker’s tail.” 

“I have waited for this moment.” 

Shay frowns. “All this rage—it doesn’t make you reckless?” 

He takes a deep breath, and she can tell that she’s touched a nerve. Better than lying to him. Lying was a sin, after all. 

“I know what my work is. You would do well to know what your’s is too.” 

It hurts like a slap. Shay frowns at him. “Relax. I wouldn’t jeopardize your quest for vengeance—God’s divine justice, or whatever.” 

“You’re so flippant,” Joshua’s voice cuts through her. “Do you go through life this way? Without a sense of care for the things that are important to those around you?” 

“I just don’t think you’ve got your head in the right direction,” Shay explains, trying to brush off the harshness of his words. It wasn’t easy. “Killing this guy won’t help you.” She flicks the ash off of her cigarette, stares out at the water. 

“You know this.” 

“Maybe,” Shay thinks of Benny, and his smile and his perfect hair. “Killed the guy who did me wrong and didn’t get much out of it besides a gun, a lighter, and a world of problems.” 

Joshua stares across the water, his eyes squinting in the lowlight of night. If she could, Shay would unfurl the thoughts from his mind, try to understand what he was thinking. He revealed so much sometimes, and other times so little. Finally, he turns to look at her. 

“There must be an end to this, Shay,” he says. “I will do what I must.” 

“I won’t stop you,” she responds, eyes meeting his. “You’re stuck with me, unfortunately. Flippant as I am.” 

Joshua furrows his brow at her. “There is truth to what I said. Perhaps not as harshly.” 

Shay rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know you won’t say it. I accept your apology.” 

The pair of them are silent now, the tense moment fading into the night ahead of them. It was becoming like this so frequently with her and him, it was starting to make Shay think they wouldn’t go a day without an uncomfortable moment. Her own dreams hardly helped in this case. 

As if hearing her thoughts, Joshua speaks up. “Will you tell me what your nightmare was?” 

Shay chuckles, her cigarette almost out now. “You know, maybe some day I’ll tell you, old man.” 

He sighs, pushes off the rock wall. 

“You need a break, I think.” Shay says. 

“When all of this is over,” Joshua responds, looking back toward the direction of the camp. She could sense that he was searching for his out. “For now, I do what I must.” 

Shay pushes off the wall, and, without thinking of it, grabs his arm above the elbow. It had been a rash act, something that she would do with Boone or Raul or whoever. Not something she would do with Joshua. In fact, she had never touched him before, always afraid that she would break this tentative friendship cultivated so carefully. 

Joshua doesn’t react, doesn’t even wince at her touch, but it stops him from walking away. Slowly, he places a hand over her’s, his fingers evoking a memory of a dream that leaves Shay with the feeling of her stomach sharply dropping. He removes her hand. 

“I’m sorry—“ 

“Don’t be,” he says, not bothering to turn around and look at her. “Follow me back to camp. We have to start planning for the upcoming days.” He begins to walk away. 

“Joshua—“ 

“Please Shay,” he cranes his neck to look back at her, his eyes cold. “Think nothing of it.” 

As if that was such an easy thing to do. She follows him back, eyes steady on the arm she had touched so briefly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought if you'd find a ring in the wasteland you would want to keep it--regardless of how valuable it actually was. Shay is also kind of like a magpie when she sees pretty things. Happy holidays to all who celebrate them! Hopefully the new year will bring some peace and calm. Thanks for reading and for the feedback/kudos/comments! See you next year.


	7. Chapter 7

“You two spend time together. What does he teach you?” 

Shay stares at the other woman over the fire, her sharp features diluted into something softer by the warm light of the flames. It had been a few days now since her incident with Joshua, their brief argument and her accidentally touching him. While he didn’t bring it up, and had continued on business as usual, Shay found herself feeling uncomfortable with herself around him, going out of her way to avoid talking about anything other than the plan. 

Waking Cloud had offered to help her craft some foodstuffs and medical supplies over the fire one night, and Shay was happy to oblige, hoping it would divert her mind from wondering what her next conversation with Joshua would be like. Of course, Waking Cloud’s curiosity did nothing to distract. 

“He doesn’t teach me anything,” Shay says, fiddling with the twine in her hands. “We go over plans and positions together.” 

“You are his second.” 

No, that wasn’t right. Shay frowns at the older woman. The last thing she would want to consider for herself would be to play second fiddle to an ex-Legate in battle, however easy it was to separate the Joshua she knows from the Malpais Legate she had only heard stories of. 

“No.” 

“A friend?” 

“I don’t know,” Shay says, frustratedly working on a tangle in the twine. Her own doing, of course. “Maybe you should be asking him these questions.” 

Waking Cloud hums, the twine so easily tied in her hands. “We all help each other. Maybe he is helping you and you are helping him.” 

“What could I possibly be helping him with?” Shay asks incredulously. If anything, she was more of a thorn in his side than anything else. A necessary thorn sure, but a thorn all the same. 

“I’m making you angry?” 

Shay sighs. “No, I’m sorry. I just feel awkward around him.” 

“What is this word?” 

“Like being uncomfortable,” Shay explains, fire warming her fingertips as she works. “Like being near him makes it hard to talk about things, makes my chest tight.” 

“Ah,” Waking Cloud says, as if it were so obvious. “Affection, then.” 

“No.” Shay says. 

“Sounds like new love.” 

“No. Are you teasing me?” 

“Never,” Waking Cloud says warmly, a coy smile on her face. “I tell you only what I think, with honesty.” 

Shay closes her eyes, sees the muted orange glow behind her eyelids. It was so complicated to pin down just why Waking Cloud’s assessment made her so uncomfortable. There were so many wrongs about it—an ex-Legate, an man her senior, a man covered in burns, always in pain—that it was starting to turn back around to right again, like some sort of terrible horseshoe. Shay had never had any strong feelings for any person. There had been flings with men and women, but there had never been any earth-shattering implications and trepidations with them. 

“You’re thinking.” 

Shay blinks up at the woman, finally opening her eyes again. “I just don’t know where you would even come up with such a thing, Waking Cloud.” 

“I am not so young. I have seen many things in my time. The Father’s love is strong, strong enough to redeem, strong enough to save. Maybe, in time, it would help you to forgive. To help you feel this love yourself.” 

“Forgive, sure.” Shay sighs. “Nobody said anything other than that.” 

“This is true,” Waking Cloud says, nodding. “Maybe I am teasing, a bit.” 

Shay tuts. “You have an evil streak.” 

“No,” the other woman says, already halfway done with their second task. Shay was still stuck on the first. “I simply see two people who have been very hurt. Perhaps they can find some common ground with one another, despite all of their differences.” 

“You’re saying I should be nicer to him?” 

“I’m saying it may be worth it to search in your heart for forgiveness. It would mean more to him than he realizes, I think.” 

Shay puts her project down, sighs. “And if I can’t forgive him?” 

“I don’t think he could blame you.” 

Shay sighs, thinks of the man in her mind, tries to put him up against all of his wrongdoings, of all the terrible stories she had heard when she was younger. Maybe being killed and reborn was enough to cleanse a man of his sins. Maybe it wasn’t. Shay thinks of being shot in the head, the empty void that had been her life for a time, like a dreamless sleep. Had she been reborn? Cleansed of her sin? There sure was a lot of sinning after the rebirth, a second chance squandered by her own lack of impulse control, her own thirst for revenge and power and survival. Could she really be the judge of someone else, someone who was punished for their sin nearly every day? Surely her feelings on the matter didn’t need to add to that. 

“I don’t know.” Shay says, and it feels empty and weak, surely not enough to quantify all of the thoughts running through her mind. 

“He is a friend to us,” Waking Cloud says, holding up her finished med-kit with a flourish. “We are a good judge of character.” 

* * *

Shay finds him the morning after, his back toward the camp, his eyes on the horizon ahead of them. He was reading less lately, always staring at maps and pacing in his cave. No one dared to bother him these days, though he would occasionally sit by the fire whenever they would take supper. He rarely ate, and of course, never ate in front of anyone. 

She approaches him, ears rushing like the roar of the waterfalls. She doesn’t know what possesses her to do it, maybe the conversation with Waking Cloud or maybe just from the barrier being broken the other night, but she reaches out and taps his shoulder, three times. 

Joshua turns around, as if shaken out of his stupor. “Shay, I didn’t hear you approach.” 

“I brought you these,” Shay holds out two loaves of bread, each wrapped in the dried husk of maize, tied sloppily with twine. “You haven’t been eating.” 

Joshua stares down at the food in her hands, his eyes flickering back and forth between the husks and her face. Finally, he reaches down and grabs the food, holds it awkwardly between them. “Thank you.” 

“I made them.” 

“Yes,” he pinches the string between his finger and his thumb, twirling it idly. “I can tell.” 

“They taste good,” Shay says. “I promise.” 

Joshua narrows his eyes at her, a sly look in them. “I believe you.” 

“Walk with me?” Shay says, gesturing with her neck for them to walk away from the camp for a little while. 

“We shouldn’t go too far.” 

“Don’t worry,” Shay reassures. “Just a quick trip.” 

Joshua sighs, surveys the camp quickly, his eyes assessing everyone doing their morning activities. Shay tries to see them through his eyes, the Sorrows and their closeness to one another, their respect for Joshua and Daniel. She tries to see herself through his eyes, the young woman who arrives in the valley with the scar on her cheekbone. The young woman with the big mouth and the pretty gun, here to upend the enemy and help battle. Did he think her a salvation? Perhaps she was giving herself too much credit. 

“Very well,” Joshua says. “Follow me.” 

Shay rolls her eyes when he turns around to leave. Of course, he always had to be the one to take the lead. It was the days of being a Legate, habits ingrained in him from years of training and single-mindedness. 

The pair walk for a while, the sun rising steadily in the sky as the morning progresses. It was peaceful, almost enough so that the dread building from their impending clash with the White Legs felt far away. Joshua still carries the bread in his hands, awkwardly holding them in front of him as they walk. 

“I can put them in my pack if you want,” Shay calls out to him. “They might get stale if you don’t eat them soon.” 

“How did you make them?” Joshua asks, turning around to face her. He’s stopped now, his body rigid, tense. Shay can see the hardening line of his shoulders, the way his jaw is clenched, the grip on the bread. 

“Are you ok?” Shay steps forward. 

“We have one more day,” Joshua says, his questions about the food all but forgotten. “I wish for this to be over with.” 

Shay holds her hands out, motions with her fingers for him to place the bread in her hands. He hands the loaves over, fingers lingering awkwardly over her hands. He closes his fists at his sides, proximity to her fingertips gone. “We’re ready.” 

“There are things we cannot prepare for,” Joshua says. “Contingencies we cannot plan.” 

Shay unwraps one of the loaves, brings it up to her nose to smell it. It’s fresh still, the scent of the sunbaked flour tingling in her nose. “Well then I suppose it’s in God’s hands, right?” 

Joshua looks down at his feet, eyes hooded with an emotion that Shay can’t place. 

“I have prayed for you,” He says it quietly, barely above a whisper. Shay looks up at him, tries to catch his eyes but can’t. “Prayed that God would send something to help us.” 

_Am I really the best He can do?_ Shay thinks to herself. 

“I’m ready,” she says. “Whenever you are.” 

“Thank you.” Joshua replies, his eyes on the loaves in her hands. 

“We can have these now if you want,” Shay holds them up. “I’ll look away.” 

“What do you mean?” He asks. 

Shay feels her cheeks redden, probably from the warm sun. She gestures to her mouth. “Your mouth.” 

“Ah,” Joshua says as he holds out his hand to grab the loaf. “Thank you for considering me.” 

Shay stares at him, watches the way he tentatively grabs the bread from her hand and turns toward the water, his eyes the cool blue that she was swiftly becoming familiar with. She would never think in a million years, not in a billion years, that she would know him in this way, as a friend. 

Shay turns from him, wills her eyes away as she unwraps her husk, eager to eat the warm loaf inside. She’ll have half and save the other half for him. He needs the food more, after all. 

“You didn’t answer about your bread.” Joshua says, his voice coming from behind her. Shay chews through a bite slowly, trying to wrack her brain for what he could be referring to. 

“My bread?” 

“How did you make them?” 

“Some of the girls showed me how,” Shay says. “They use this powder that makes the flour blow up and get fluffy, then they bake it on stones in the sun. Some of them use spices or dried fruits, but I figured you would just want the plain stuff.” 

Shay expects a reply, though receives none. It’s odd to answer a question and be met with silence, but she doesn’t complain. It was a peaceful morning, all thoughts of the next day’s horror pushed to the side in favor of the sunshine and the taste of warm bread. 

Footsteps interrupt her thoughts and then Joshua is standing next to her, his bread half eaten in his hand, his mouth unwrapped. Shay looks before she realizes that she wasn’t supposed to, sees the redness of his skin, the way the shape of his lips had maintained, though they lacked definition against the rest of his skin. She averts her eyes quickly, sure he’s seen her staring. 

“Thank you for thinking of me,” his voice sounds strange, unmuffled by gauze. “The food is good.” 

“You haven’t been eating,” Shay says. “I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

The pair sit in silence, eating their bread together in the morning sun. Shay doesn’t want to ruin the moment, doesn’t want her words to bring them back down to earth, but something itches at the back of her mind. 

“I want you to know,” and her voice sounds so loud in her head, as she still isn’t looking at him. “I trust you, and you can trust me too. Whatever happens tomorrow.” 

“I trust you,” Joshua says. He brushes his hands off, apparently finished with his meal. She assumes he gets back to wrapping the bandages back around his mouth. “It’s why I’m standing next to you, eating your bread, discussing _our_ plan.” 

Shay hums, rolls a loose stone underneath the sole of her boot. “Good.” 

A hand is on her shoulder, warm and heavy on the bare skin of her shoulder, one finger resting on the strap of her tank top. She looks at it, looks up at him. His eyes are on her shoulder like he’s studying it and before she even has time to ask him what he’s doing, the hand is gone. 

“Thank you for the breakfast,” he says, his voice distant. “And the company.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone call for intimate bread-sharing?   
> Happy new year to everyone! I hope this year lands softly for everyone. Lord knows we need it. Thanks for reading and thanks for the kudos/comments/feedback. It is always appreciated! See you soon.


	8. Chapter 8

There was chaos unlike any battle Shay had ever been a part of. She thinks of defending Goodsprings against those Powder Gangers, thinks of the way she had hid behind wooden boxes for an hour just trying not to get shot so soon after coming back from the dead. 

This was nothing like Goodsprings. Blood turns the rivers red, Sorrows and Horses and White Legs all casualties, all bodies dead to the world now. Shay makes sure that Follows-Chalk is alright, though he always seems to be alright, moving about with an incredible grace. Though she can’t find Waking Cloud anywhere. 

And of course, Joshua. Just the thought of him makes her angry—the way he had stormed off, away from her, his form retreating in the water on the horizon. It wasn’t their plan. It was his bloodlust, the way that his voice would grow low when he spoke of their leader Salt-Upon-Wounds, the tangible excitement she could feel off of him when they left together that evening. Cloaked in his own desire for violence, he had left her to pick up the pieces. 

A White Leg struggles in the water ahead of her, his leg caught in an old trap, the tendrils of blood leak from his ankle into the cool water. Shay approaches him, Maria hanging limply in her grasp. The man is looking up at her, terror on his painted features, his voice hoarse from yelling. It hurts to see a human like this. Shay puts a bullet in his head, then moves on. 

As she treads on, her surroundings become more frantic. The rush of people is overwhelming, the copper-y smell of blood, the sounds of dying men and women—it’s all so much. And this is what he wanted. Shay feels it in her gut, the fury. 

When they finally come upon them, it’s Joshua and a few dead White Legs. His gun, that beautiful gun of his, is pointed at the temple of man on his knees. Shay assumes this man must be Salt-Upon-Wounds. His hands are up, his knees crushed into the dirt beneath them. Joshua’s eyes are on him, cold and blue. He’s saying something to the man on his knees, some language Shay cannot recognize, with a voice that cuts all the way across the waters to Shay. 

She approaches slowly, gun in her right hand. 

Salt-Upon-Wounds is pleading with _her_ now, words she cannot know. The tone is enough.

“Joshua,” Shay has to shout, the fighting and the fire is too loud. “He’s surrendering.” 

“He gave no mercy to my family,” Joshua doesn’t look at her when he speaks, his eyes still zeroed in on the Salt-Upon-Wounds. “And I will give none to his.” 

“Joshua,” she repeats his name. “This isn’t God’s vengeance. It’s just killing for the sake of it.” She’s closer now, close enough that she could run up and stop him. 

Joshua lowers the gun, finally looks at her, eyes wide like an animal in pain. 

“And what do you know of it?” 

“You’ve already won, and you know it,” Shay is close to him now, can smell the gunpowder and mesquite. She covers his hand on his gun with her own. “You don’t need to kill him.” 

Shay is nearly standing between the two men now, though Joshua could still get a shot off the other man if he really wanted. She is sure he could. 

“He has a debt to pay for what he’s done and I’ve come to collect,” Joshua is looking at her now, unfazed by her hand on his. “And so he’s chosen to cower in the water like a dumb animal.” 

“If what you believe is true, he’ll pay for it later,” Shay insists, her tone teetering into desperation. “The Sorrows don’t need to see you do this. You don’t need to do this.” 

“I want to take from them. I want them to suffer as I did.” 

“Joshua—“ 

He cuts her off, his gun nearly being pushed down by her weight. “I want to have my revenge against him. Against Caesar. I want to make my anger God’s anger. To justify the things I’ve done.” 

Shay takes a breath and can almost see it, the fire behind his eyes. Thrown again into the abyss, standing in front of Salt-Upon-Wounds and seeing the bull’s eye, red and raging. 

He shakes the gun from her grip, easy as can be, then holsters it and Shay is left standing with her hands out. Halfway between angry and sorrowful. 

“The warmth and heat will always be a part of me,” Joshua says. He pushes the other man forward. “But not today. Go.” 

They watch as Salt-Upon-Wounds retreats, limping on one leg out of the canyon. Shay feels something pull at her chest, a stinging wound, like a burn. She clenches a fist, holds it to her chest. The others are retreating as well, the Sorrows and Dead Horses. Shay turns to Joshua, not sure what she expects to hear from him. 

“Thank you for staying,” he says, his eyes meeting hers in the lowlight of the fires. “For your help. I—“ he stops. 

“I’m mad at you.” Shay tells him, though her tone betrays no strong emotion. 

“I would have figured as much,” Joshua says. “We should return to Daniel. There is much to be done.” 

The pair travel back together silently, wading through bloody waters and smoke-filled air. Shay can’t bring herself to yell, can’t find the energy to remain angry at him. She was drained, the pain in her chest lessening to a dull thud, a sadness she couldn’t describe. When the moon is high in the sky and dusk has settled, they make it back to the camp. Everyone is a flurry, hugging loved ones, celebrating their victory over the campfire. It’s an empty scene to Shay. She could not celebrate if she forced herself to. 

“I will find Daniel,” Joshua looks down at Shay, his eyes meeting her’s. “Will you come?” 

“We need to talk,” Shay says. “You and me.” 

“Before we speak with Daniel?” 

“What you said back there, about it all being you—you believe that?” 

Joshua swallows, and she watches his adam’s apple bob up and down through the bandages. “Yes. The burning—it is always me. It always was.” 

“I’m sorry.” Shay reaches out as if to grab his hand, but she stops herself. There was no reason for her to be sorry, no reason to offer remorse to the man. 

“Don’t be. It is a revelation,” Joshua says with a smile, and there is something unnatural about the way she can see it behind the gauze, see it on his face. “It was not His anger that saved me. It was His love.” 

Shay closes her eyes, envies the lightness that he is surely feeling—the levity that forgiveness from a higher power could provide. 

“We’ll speak with Daniel in the morning,” Joshua says. “For now, you should get some rest. You look quite pale.” 

“I’m still mad at you,” Shay says, though she can’t get it out without coughing. The tickle in the back of her throat agitates her, makes her clear her throat. “I’m not done yet.” 

Joshua furrows his brow at her. “You’re unwell.” 

“No, I’m angry.” 

“I am sorry for running away from you,” Joshua finally says, still looking at Shay with trepidation. “I knew you would try and stop me from killing him.” 

Shay coughs. “You knew? Even after I told you I wouldn’t?” 

“You lied to me,” Joshua says. “I could tell.” 

“How could you tell?” Shay asks, indignant. 

“You bite your bottom lip when you lie.” 

Shay quiets at that. His time as a Legate surely helped him learn how to find tells when someone lies. It was something Boone once told her about. 

_“The good ones know when you’re lying. They can see it in your eyes.”_

_“Is that why you wear sunglasses all the time?”_

_“Shay.”_

“Do you have a tell?” Shay asks, crosses her arms as she suppresses another cough. 

“No,” Joshua says. “I don’t lie.” 

“Ha!” Shay lets out a bitter laugh. “Like when you didn’t lie about leaving me in the dirt to go chase after White Legs? Don’t make me laugh.” 

He is silent for a moment. “I endeavor to not lie.” 

Shay doesn’t respond to that, keeps her mouth shut in an attempt to not say anything stupid. She can’t help herself from coughing, unsure where this sudden cough was coming from.Waking Cloud approaches the pair, and Shay is glad for another person to save her from this discomfort. 

“I am pleased to see you both still live,” Waking Cloud says, holds her arms out to the two of them. “That was not an easy battle.” 

“Yes,” Joshua says. “It is good to see you, Waking Cloud.” 

Shay coughs. “I’m glad you’re ok.” 

Waking Cloud furrows her brows at Shay. “Are you ill?” 

“She’s been coughing.” Joshua adds. 

Shay shoots him a glare before looking back at Waking Cloud. It would behoove her to not appear sick, she had to leave Zion soon, and she couldn’t be trapped here with an illness. She had accomplished what she was meant to do here, and now it was time to leave. 

“Come with me, Courier,” Waking Cloud places a hand on her shoulder, then another on her forehead. “Oh, you are warm.” 

Shay follows dutifully, attempting to devise a way out of this situation while being swept away by Waking Cloud. She turns to face Joshua, and is surprised to see he is still watching them. He watches them all the way back to the cave, until he is out of sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to tap into some of the in-game dialogue without directly regurgitating the scene, but I really like the way it plays out when you convince Joshua to spare Salt-Upon-Wounds. I think the Courier being the only person who can stop him adds an interesting dynamic to their relationship. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! And for all the comments/kudos/feedback. It is always appreciated. See you soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some light nsfw at the beginning

Someone’s lips are on her collarbone, on her chest, on her stomach. It’s hard to see in the dark light of her hotel room, the red walls and black floors, but she’s sure she knows him. There is smoke in the air, smoke from her cigarettes, smoke from the campfires, and it smells of guns and sweat. 

The feeling is warm and euphoric, makes her toes curl, makes her hairs stand up, goosebumps on her skin. There is a man. He rests between her legs, his mouth on her, a sensation not felt in a long time. Shay clutches the sheets, surprised when all she can grab is water, flowing through her fingers and to the ground. 

When she looks up she sees blue eyes and bandages. 

Shay awakes with a start, eyes snapping open so fast that it nearly hurts. A cough wracks through her lungs, violently out of her chest, and the sweat she feels from her fever clings to her skin, makes her cold even in the warm torch-lit cave. She sits up, clutches at her chest until the coughing fit has past. Waking Cloud scurries over, towel and bucket in hand. She kneels next to Shay’s cot and places the towel up against her forehead. 

“You had a sickness dream.” Waking Cloud’s voice is loud, despite her being so close. Shay’s ears ring. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “You could say that.” 

“Those are the worst,” Waking Cloud shakes her head as she speaks. “My oldest used to break fever every autumn. She had the worst dreams. Drink this water.” She holds out a canteen for Shay, who takes it quickly and chugs as much water as she can. The cool water coats her thickened throat, slides into her empty stomach with a tingling sensation. 

“Thank you.” Shay says, leaning back against the cot, eyes focusing on the rocky ceiling above them. 

“I used to tell her that they weren’t real,” Waking Cloud says as she wrings out the towel she had used on Shay’s forehead. Shay watches the gentle drip-dripping of her sweat from the cloth. “I probably don’t have to tell you that, but just in case: they aren’t real.” 

Shay laughs out a raspy scoff, finding hilarity in Waking Cloud’s ignorance to the actual kind of dream she was having. Of all the men in the whole world. 

“Your fever will break soon I think,” Waking Cloud says. “I will bring you some broth.” 

As Waking Cloud leaves to go collect the broth, Shay surveys the rest of the cave. It hadn’t changed much since her conversation here with Joshua all those days ago. The table still sat in the middle of the room, the lean-to still providing a small shelter for the cot she was currently occupying. She realizes that this was their sick room—a place to put those members of the Sorrows to heal, to quarantine away from the healthy. So that’s where she was at. Quarantined, sweaty, and in desperate need of some alone time. 

Shay fumbles through her open bag next to the bed, searching for the only book she had. Her fingers hit the hard cover of her bible and she grabs the book, holds it up against the light. She hadn’t opened it since Joshua had given it to her, hadn’t had the time to get into it. She runs her finger down the spine, marvels at the condition of it. 

“I think I need your help.” She says to the book. Opening to a random page, Shay begins to read the words, but the fever makes her head heavy, makes it hard to comprehend whatever stories were being told in the pages. She groans, places the open book over her head. The pages feel cool against her hot forehead. 

Waking Cloud’s footsteps come from the entrance once more, surely bringing her the broth that was promised. Though the footfalls sound too heavy to be bare feet, in fact, they sound more like boots.

_Shit,_ Shay thinks to herself, keeping the book open over her eyes. Afraid to see the man entering the room. 

“I’m reading.” She says, trying to will the uncomfortable feeling away out through her chest. It wasn’t working. It would be fine so long as she didn’t look at him. 

“I don’t think you are,” Joshua’s voice is near her, next to her. At least he didn’t speak in the dream, at least she still had that. As long as she didn’t look at him. “Waking Cloud sent me with broth.” 

Shay coughs, her nose getting uncomfortably bumped by the hard book as she does it. “Ugh.” She grimaces and finally acquiesces, grabbing the book and closing it. She sits up, places the book in her lap and turns to see him—blue eyes and bandages. Her face warms, not from the fever. 

Shay holds her hands out for the bowl, tries not to stare at him for too long. 

“You’re uncomfortable.” Joshua says, making it about one hundred times worse. 

Shay furrows her brows at him. “I’m sick. It’s not exactly easy living. Gimme the broth.” She makes a grabby-motion with her hands. He places the bowl in her hands and she brings it up to her mouth, drinks from it greedily, trying not to be hyperaware of the man watching her drink. Some of the broth dribbles down her chin, drips down her throat and beneath the sweaty tank top she wore. 

“How have you been feeling?” Joshua asks, arms crossed, standing above her like some kind of statue. 

“Not great,” Shay holds the bowl in her lap, looks at her reflection in the soup. “Better than yesterday.” 

“That’s good,” he says. “Waking Cloud thinks the fever will break soon.” 

Shay sighs, lets out an involuntary cough. “You guys talking about me behind my back? In my weakened state?” 

“We speak of little else.” Joshua says, clearly oblivious to Shay’s attempt at comedy. 

“Seriously? Why me?” 

Joshua places his hands at his sides, studies the bowl of broth in Shay’s lap before continuing. “We were worried about you when you first fell ill. I thought it was from your smoking.” 

Shay laughs. “Never had a cold before?” 

“When I was younger, perhaps,” Joshua’s eyes move to the ceiling of the cave, wistful and searching for something that Shay cannot place. “Regardless, I was concerned.” 

“About me?” 

“Yes, Shay,” Joshua looks back down at her, impatience creeping in his tone. “I have not seen you ill before. You should take it more seriously.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she says to him, catches herself looking at his shoulders, how they had looked in her dream, between her legs. She looks away. “Thanks for the broth.”

“If there is something on your mind I would prefer you share it with me.” Joshua says, crouching so that can be eye level with her. Shay stares at him, wonders if somehow he had found out about her dream. It’s an impossible thought, but his eyes are boring into her’s. 

Shay swallows, tasting the lingering salt of broth on her tongue. “Back there with Salt-Upon-Wounds, you listened to me when I asked you not to kill him. Why?” 

Joshua blinks at her as if he’s surprised by her line of questioning. “I value your words. In truth, I find much of myself in you.” 

Shay cringes at his particular choice of words. “Really? You think we’re alike?” 

“No,” Joshua says. “But you were killed and brought back. And the world is a better place for it. I could only hope for the same for me. That God has given me this chance to fix what I’ve wrought.” 

Shay watches him, watches the way he seems more comfortable now than he ever has before. As if the whole experience with Salt-Upon-Wounds had changed him from the inside-out, as if her stopping him had changed something within him. The feeling is a lot for Shay to parse out, the words sentimental enough to make a warm fondness blossom in her chest. He truly believed that she did good in the world, that she wasn’t just some gun-toting, big-mouthed, blonde with an agenda for pain. 

She reaches out for him, palms up, vulnerable. 

Joshua stares at her hand for a moment as if he’s trying to decide whether it was a trap or an offer. After some time, he reaches out, places his hand in her’s. The texture is rough, worn bandages on his palm, but the fingers she can feel. It was scarred flesh, almost like Raul’s but not quite as rough, and in some parts almost impossibly smooth, all traces of fingerprints scorched away by flame. 

They sit like this for some time, neither saying anything. Shay stares at their joined hands, wonders whether this was as much for him as it was for her. It was so damn _intimate,_ so free in its simplicity. She looks up and he’s staring at her face. 

“I brought more broth.” Waking Cloud’s voice interrupts like a cold bucket of water dumped on a fire. She doesn’t seem to notice, and Shay quickly brings her hand back to her side, wondering, hoping, praying that whatever had just happened was not too much, not too little. Joshua is still watching her, though he stands up now. 

“I’m sorry,” Waking Cloud says quietly as she gets closer, noticing the thickness in the room. “I hope I did not interrupt.” 

“We were just talking.” Shay says, desperately hoping that the situation would get normal any minute now. 

“Feel better, Shay,” and his voice is so low, so soft she almost doesn’t hear it. “I will be around if either of you need me for anything.”

Waking Cloud and Shay watch him leave, Shay studying the lines of his back and shoulders, the stride of his walk, the clunking of his boots as they leave the cave. Waking Cloud clears her throat. 

“He was worried about you.” 

Shay smiles sadly after him. “I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly clumsy when writing any sort of nsfw content so please have mercy on me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and thank you for all the kudos/comments/feedback. I appreciate it! See you soon.


	10. Chapter 10

In truth, Shay felt better now that than she had in her entire life. Even Doc Mitchell’s careful handiwork on her head hadn’t left her as rejuvenated as the time she had spent under Waking Cloud’s medical care. Something like sorrow gnaws at her gut when she thinks of the bond between her and the older woman, when she thinks of leaving her behind, probably never to see her again. 

Shay’s hands rest on the top of her pack, fingers digging into the deep green cloth. A cool autumn breeze makes the ends of her ponytail tickle her shoulders, her cheek. The river sits in front of her, her eyes trailing the path of the water, jealous of its ability to flow and be free. 

She was leaving Zion. It had to be done now, or she may not return to the Mojave in time to stop the Legion, to restore some semblance of balance to the west, to make sure her friends back home didn’t forget her completely. Despite how much she misses them, it isn’t making leaving any easier. 

Someone approaches her, boots on the dirt. 

“I thought I’d be gone by now,” she tells him, spares a glance at his bandaged face before looking back down at her pack. “You guys keep dragging me back in.” 

Joshua sighs. “I don’t think any of us were prepared for you to come here. And now it seems none of us are ready for you to leave all the same.” 

The sentiment tugs at her heart, makes her mouth feel like cotton. 

“Like a bad bug.” Shay jokes, though it falls flat. 

“A blessing, I would argue.” And he’s earnest when he says it, which makes Shay feel a heaviness in her stomach. “Though I suspect you may take offense to that.” 

“No,” Shay shoots him a smile. “I’ll take it.” 

The two of them are quiet, and Shay takes the moment to appreciate the scene around her—the Sorrows, finally at peace and comfortable, the incoming autumn weather, skies cloudy and grey, the sound of the river, the rush of water. She would miss it all. She would miss the rain the most. 

“Where will you go?” She asks him as she tears her eyes away from the sky above them. 

“I thought to return to Dead Horse Point with the tribe.” 

“What, you don’t wanna go back to New Vegas with me?” Shay asks it as a joke, but she knows that a part of her will miss him. There is a pulling in her gut, some smarter instinct telling her to push those friendly feelings far away, but she can’t help but ignore it. There was a closeness she felt to him. No one commanded such a frequent occupancy in her mind, in her dreams. 

Best not to think on that one too much. 

“No.” It’s all that he offers. 

Shay swallows thickly. “Don’t think some of my friends would like you much, anyway.” 

“You didn’t like me when we met.” 

Shay snorts. “Still don’t.” 

Joshua is silent at that as he crosses his arms. Shay pales. 

“I was just kidding,” she says quickly. “that was a joke.” 

He pulls something out of his pocket, but Shay can’t see what it is as he balls whatever it is in his fist. He turns toward her, his boots pointing toward her in the dirt, his eyes into her’s. A moment passes between them, and Shay thinks that maybe he wants to say something. He remains silent.   
“I found something,” Joshua says finally as he holds his hand out. “It is not something I would wear, but I thought it would suit you.” 

She looks down to see a necklace, the metal set of it the same color as the ring on her finger. It had a small cross on it, the figure of a human man, but none of the distinct features of one was crucified on it. At first, to Shay, it seems a bit morbid. But the more she looks the more a memory pulls at her mind—her mother wore a crucifix like this one, though her’s was gold. She gently lifts the necklace out of Joshua’s palm, delicately holds the figure in her fingers, runs her thumb over what would be the crucified body. 

She used to try on her mother’s necklace whenever she took it off, would marvel at the richness of it, the luxury of such a nice thing. It had been a gift for her mother from her father. They never knew where he got it from.

Shay looks up, something uncomfortable prickles behind her eyes. “Thank you.” 

“In truth, I’ve never seen such a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice in such a way. As I said, it is not something I would wear, but I kept it when I found it. Perhaps that was blasphemous of me, but I thought it was a reminder of the penance I was seeking. It will suit you better.” 

Shay sighs. “My mother had one just like it.” 

A hint of a smile plays at his hidden features, Shay can just barely make it out. 

“Yes well,” he says. “I’m relieved you appreciate the gift.” 

Shay fiddles with the clasp, her fingers struggling with the old metal. “Can you help me?” 

Joshua nods as she holds the open necklace out to him. He grabs it from her, his fingertips avoiding her’s acutely. _That’s strange,_ she thinks. He maneuvers around her, taking his place behind her, his shadow invisible with the clouds in the sky. Shay bends her neck down, feels the chill of the air crawl up her spine, giving her goosebumps. 

He brushes her ponytail out of the way and over her shoulder, a ghost’s touch against her blonde hair. The feeling makes gooseflesh prickle on her arms, makes Shay feel as if her hair was the most important thing on her body to touch. He brings the necklace over her head and she watches his hands avoid her skin before disappearing behind her, clasping the necklace together carefully. A thumb brushes against the skin on the back of her neck, surely by accident, and Shay feels her breath stutter. It had been so long since someone had touched her. And she was—

She was leaving. 

“Thank you,” she tells him as he steps back around to face her once more. The necklace feels heavy against her collar bone, and she reaches up to touch it. “I appreciate that.” 

“I will pray for you,” Joshua says. “When your business in the Mojave is finished, you will always be welcome with the Dead Horses.” 

The offer takes Shay by surprise. It wasn’t that she felt unwelcome by them in anyway, in fact, she felt more welcome with them than she had with a lot of folks back home in the Mojave. But the idea that one day she would return to Utah took her by surprise—that he would even offer. What would be the end goal? To come home to what? To the Dead Horses, to Joshua? 

“Well,” she is at a loss for words, finds only what she can. “You wouldn’t want me around anyways. Too loud.” 

Joshua’s brow furrows, his eyes meeting the crucifix before coming back up to her own. “‘For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’”

“Will you ever go back to New Canaan?” Shay asks. 

“I don’t think so,” Joshua responds. “Would you return to your old village?” 

Shay is silent for a moment. Thinks on what her life could have been. “Maybe I could rebuild their farm. Have some Bighorners. Chickens. Rex could scare away the critters.” 

They sit in silence once more, letting Shay’s vision of her farm carry the conversation to a comfortable silence. She thinks of how easy it would be, to leave everything behind and close herself off to the world—this ugly world that asks so much of her. They had killed her once, brought her back to run more errands, deliver more death. How peaceful it would be to just stop it all, put a pause on everything and live on her own. Maybe she would take a lover, have a child.

She looks at him, takes in his hidden features one more time, the shape of his shoulders, his neck. A smile crosses her lips. 

“Next time we meet,” she begins, the words thick in her throat, heavy with something she cannot name. “I’ll have good news for you.” 

She holds her hand out for him to shake. 

Joshua looks down at her hand, places his hand tentatively in it, then the other on top of their connected hands, embracing them tighter than expected. “I will hold you to that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I knowwwwwww--the burn is slow. But good things are coming very soon!! I mean it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! And thank you for all the comments/kudos/feedback. It is always appreciated, even if you don't realize. Sometimes it's hard to find the motivation, and your words mean a lot and kick me in the butt to keep going. See you soon!


	11. Chapter 11

“I think you have conked your head one too many times, and if Raul even entertains the idea then you both have brain rot. And I’m serious.” 

“He’s not serious,” Raul’s voice creeps up from the side. Shay holds back a snicker. 

“I am serious,” Arcade crosses his arms. “What about me says ‘I’m not serious’?” 

Raul gestures vaguely at Arcade’s whole form. 

The three of them sit in a standoff in the penthouse suite, Raul lounging comfortably on one of the chairs in the kitchen while Arcades leans against the fridge. Shay sits next to Raul, her hands crossed politely on the hardwood of the table. 

It had been a dumb idea, but it wiggles in the back of her head like a worm. 

“It’s not a bad trip,” she says. “Wouldn’t take more than a week.” 

“Let’s assess once more,” Arcade begins, his hands angrily gesturing. “You have just deposed pretty much every great power from the Mojave besides yourself and a perpetually upbeat robot. Now, when everything hangs incredibly delicate in the balance, you want to go on a vacation. Am I getting this right so far?” 

Shay nods. 

“You don’t see the problem with that?” 

“What’s wrong with a little time off? Not like House did much from his little seat in the clouds anyway.” Raul says. 

“Oh and you want to be just like him?” Arcade asks. 

Shay furrows her brow, grabs a smoke from the pack in front of her. She clicks her lighter, looking for the warm orange ember of her cigarette to light. She takes a drag, in and out slowly. “I want to go to Utah.” 

“Why?” Arcade moves to the table, takes the seat across from her and Raul. “What is in Utah that you are absolutely dying to go find?” 

“I want to see the rain.” 

Raul scratches the back of his neck. “Boone’ll be pissed when he hears.” 

“We won’t tell him,” Shay responds quickly. “I’ll be back before First Recon gets back anyways.” 

“Ugh,” Arcade pinches the bridge of his nose, his glasses pushing up with the motion. “If you don’t die on the way to see this magical rain of your’s, Boone will surely kill you for not telling him.” 

“He’ll be fine,” Shay says. “I can handle his wrath.” 

“You say that now…” Arcade trails off. 

The trio sit in silence, Arcade’s clear frustration emanating off of him in waves. Shay knew he would probably be mad, knew that all that work they had put in together to kill House and Ceasar felt like it would be for nought to him if she left. She didn’t want to hurt him. 

“Take a walk, Arcade,” Raul’s voice cuts through the gloom of the room. 

The other man stares at them from across the table, the frustration settling in the space between his light eyebrows. “Shay. You left for two months. We thought you died.” 

She doesn’t say anything, can’t find the right excuse for causing them pain. 

“You can’t do that again.” Arcade says dejectedly. 

“I won’t be gone for as long,” she says in an attempt to placate him. “I promise.” 

She knew it was wrong to lie to him like this, to make a promise emptier than the Lucky 38 they lived in. But some hurts were necessary—like a bone being set back into place, like a heart that has to break to fix itself again. Shay smiles up at him. 

“Don’t smile at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

Arcade rolls his eyes. “Like it doesn’t matter what you say you’ll do. You’re gonna do what you wanna do anyways.” 

“He’s gotta point.” Raul’s voice comes from beside her and Shay barely has time to shoot him a look of annoyance before Arcade heads for the room’s door. 

“Where are you going?” She asks, getting up from her seat so fast that her chair skids loudly behind her. 

“I’m going to the Followers. Julie needs my help with something,” Arcade’s form lingers in the doorway, his hand lingering on the frame, fingers picking at the old wood. “Shay.” 

“Yes?” She asks. 

“Please, _please_ at least say goodbye this time.” 

Shay’s smile falls. “I will.” 

Arcade doesn’t dignify it with a response, just leaves the room quietly. They can hear the elevator doors slide open and creak close, leaving Raul and Shay, Rex somewhere else in the suite. The old ghoul sighs, the harsh rasp of his voice fills the room. 

“So what the hell is goin’ on, boss?” He asks innocently. 

“I told you,” Shay looks back at him sitting at the table, his arm slung lazily across the back of where she’d just been sitting, his milky eyes trained on her carefully. Raul always had the facade of someone much more relaxed than they actually were. “I want to see the rain.”

“You meet someone out there?” Raul asks, his fingers tapping a simple tune against the grain of the dark wood. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Seems to me no force in this world can stop you, boss, so can’t see what would tie you down either. ‘Sides a lover.” Raul explains. 

Shay blanches. “Not a lover, no.” 

“Long-lost family?” 

“No.” 

Raul hums, exaggeratedly pondering with his fist under his chin. “I’m runnin’ out of guesses here. Throw me a bone, lady.” 

The cross hangs heavy on her neck, and Shay has to resist the urge to reach up and run her fingers over it. “Ok. I’ll tell you.” 

Raul leans forward, a particularly evil smirk gracing his decaying features. 

“I did meet someone,” Shay steps toward him again, taking the spot next to him once more, leaning back against his arm. “You won’t believe it.” 

“Try me.” 

Shay glances conspiratorially toward the doorway. “You know Joshua Graham?” 

What’s left of Raul’s eyebrow quirks upward, the look of pure confusion flashing across his eyes. As if it takes him a moment to register the information, Raul looks down at his feet. He snaps his fingers. “Right. Thought that guy was crow shit somewhere at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.” 

“No,” Shay says. “He’s alive.” 

Raul studies her for a moment, his eyes flickering back and forth between her’s, down to the crucifix against her collarbone. He narrows his eyes. “He make you join a cult, or something? You’re pretty gullible boss, but not shacking-up-with-an-ex-legionnarie-gullible.” 

Shay rolls her eyes at him. “No, no cults. We’re not ‘shacking up.’”

“You wanting to go all this way just to see him sure seems like a bit more than what you’re letting on, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Raul says. 

Shay notices something stuck on the table, and begins to pick at it. This wasn’t really a conversation she wanted to delve into right now. 

Raul notices her sudden silence. “What’s he like?” 

“He’s intense. Harsh. He covers himself in bandages like one of those mummies in the pre-war comics,” Shay says. Raul laughs at that. “Religious like you’ve never met. He was kind to me, though.” 

“Yeah,” Raul’s tone is joking, light and airy. “Pretty blonde girl wanders into his little cult and you expected him to be unkind?” 

Shay shakes her head. “No, it’s not like that. I don’t think he thinks like that.” 

“Sure he does,” Raul says. “He give you that necklace?” He points to the crucifix resting against her chest. 

“Yes.” 

“Yeah,” Raul replies. “He thinks like that. Damn that’d be crazy. The courier who got shot in the head who came back and the guy who got thrown down the canyon and came back. A match made in Hell, maybe.” 

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.” Shay frowns at him. 

He laughs at her. “Oh, boss. It’s cute you think you can insult me.” 

Shay rolls her eyes at him again, a good-natured thing if not a little annoying. Raul was a good friend to her, and sometimes he would say something in Spanish that reminded her of her father. He used to squeeze words in at random, so much so that her and her mother wouldn’t even notice half the time. 

She was going to miss Raul. 

“Are you gonna miss me?” She asks him, leaning forward in her chair. 

Raul places a hand on her shoulder, runs a ruined thumb against freckled, tan skin. “Yeah, boss. You better come home to us soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My two favorite boys make an appearance. And there's lots of dialogue! I didn't show Shay's rise to power because we all kinda know how that goes by now, right? 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! And thank you for all the kudos/comments/feedback. :) Next chapter coming sooner than usual because I'm impatient to get back to Joshua. See you soon!


	12. Chapter 12

“I think you would do well here. The Dead Horses have been really welcoming to me,” Judy’s voice seems to reverberate around the small village as the two women take their tour. Shay watches her, watches the way her hips swing on each syllable. “And I’m me.” 

Judy had been the first one to welcome her when she crossed the threshold into Dead Horse Point. The woman had not been with them in Zion, which she later explained to Shay as her being a local in the area who wanted to spend some time with the tribe. It didn’t quite make sense to Shay, but Judy seemed to fashion herself as some kind of anthropologist. It didn't matter. Judy was nice enough, and she welcomed Shay with open arms. 

“Yeah,” Shay says to the other woman as they continue on, passing by small tents and wooden structures. There’s an old man napping on a chair in the sun, his tanned skin seeming to glow in the lowlight of the sunset. Children skitter around his feet, chasing some kind of overgrown rat. It must be domesticated as one of the children catches up to it, wrapping small arms around the creature’s neck. Shay watches the scene, a warm pull tugging at her heart. 

“So how do you know Mr. Graham?” Judy asks. Oh. They had stopped walking. Shay stops in her tracks and stares at the other woman, her red hair like fire in the sun’s rays. 

“Me and him go way back,” Shay jokes, unsure how else to navigate this conversation. Her stomach does a flip. “Old friends.” 

Judy furrows a thin brow at her. “He’s never mentioned you.” 

“He wouldn’t,” Shay is surprised by how un-offended she is. She touches a finger to the necklace against her collarbone. “We have a … complicated relationship.” 

Judy doesn’t respond to that, but Shay watches the other woman’s green eyes flicker to her fingers on the necklace. It’s such an obvious move, Shay clears her throat and places her hands back at her sides. If Judy finds anything strange about it, she doesn’t say, but chooses to instead continue on, turning quickly on her heel and walking further down the way. 

They pass more children, and Shay is surprised by the amount of kids there are. She hadn’t seen this many children in one place in well, forever. 

“He spends most of his time alone,” Judy gestures to an old dilapidated building ahead of them. It’s walls seem clear at first, but then Shay realizes that she can’t quite see through them. Dark twirling shapes appear behind the glass, and the door hangs open invitingly. “In the greenhouse.” 

“What’s a greenhouse?” Shay asks plainly. The word sounds familiar in her mind, but she can’t put it to form. 

Judy shrugs. “Clear buildings they used to use for farming—crops and flowers and the like. This one is really old. Almost pre-pre-war.” 

Shay attempts a better look at the building. The structure seems relatively maintained, though the door swings lazily off its hinges and by the shadows Shay can tell that the dead plants inside have overgrown. It doesn’t strike her as the type of place Joshua would be, but then she remembers that quiet and cold cave she would find him in back in Zion. 

“He spends a lot of time in there—praying I think.” Judy waves her arms to beckon Shay inside and the pit of Shay’s stomach drops as she approaches the door. She didn’t know what she would say or how she would approach him. Her entire life had been comprised of doing things on-the-spot, and, of course, she hadn’t planned this either. The open door beckons, a breeze making it whistle in the wind. 

“Thanks Judy,” Shay says as she steps forward. “I’ll see you at dinner.” 

The other woman nods at her, red hair like copper in the early evening sky. 

Shay is first shocked by the change in air when she enters the greenhouse—it’s warmer, almost as if the dropping evening temperature had no effect here, and it feels more humid than the dry air outside of them. She passes by dead and decaying plants, vines hanging loosely in her path like arms trying to reach out, crunchy dead leaves snapping underneath her footsteps. She would be surprised if he didn’t hear her coming. As she continues on through the denseness of the dead plants, she realizes how quiet it was in here, how secluded it felt from the din of life outside. There were no children’s voices, no muffled shots of shooting practice. The silence felt heavy, felt like it permeated the air around Shay. She sees Joshua then as she moves past a particularly overgrown bush. 

His back is toward her, sitting on an old bench stuffed between planters. He is looking down at something in his lap. There is a moment, however brief, that Shay feels as though she’s intruding on something she shouldn’t be, that she should turn around and leave without saying anything to him. But she stays. She had come all this way, and the news she had to deliver hangs heavy in her chest, trapped between her two lungs. 

“I have good news and bad,” Shay says, her voice feeling foreign to her ears. Joshua stands quickly, turning to face her. His eyes are wide, but he makes no move beyond that, choosing rather to stare at her instead. “Which do you want me to start with?” 

He lets out a breath, marveling at her sudden appearance. “Shay.” 

“You’re not having a nightmare. I’m really here.” 

He steps forward, his footsteps loud and echoing against the opaque walls. Maneuvering around the bench he had been sitting at, Joshua stands in front of Shay, his form still just as tall and intimidating as it had been the day they met. Shay smiles up at the man, her heartbeat betraying the cool veneer plastered on her face. 

“It is good to see you.” Joshua says this as he holds a hand out, places it on her shoulder. The casual contact was unexpected, but Shay supposes it had been a good six months since she had seen him last. Maybe it had been a half-year since he had touched anyone. 

“You look…” Shay holds a finger and a thumb up to her chin, lost in mock thought. “Well you look the same.” 

“You have a new scar,” Joshua points with his other finger to the scar that runs from the spot under her nose, through her lips, all the way down to her chin. The Legate Lanius had gifted it to her with that terrible sword of his—the very same sword Shay would later plunge into his chest, cracking through weak metal armor. She still remembers the sound of the metal collapsing into his chest, the crack of his sternum, the squelch of blood and guts. Such a different world than the one she occupies now, in this greenhouse with Joshua. 

“You should see the other guy.” Shay says 

He remove his hand, places it back his side. “Was your journey long?” 

“It wasn’t too bad,” Shay looks down at her boots, sees the dirt caked onto them. “I thought about sending you a letter, but I figured I’m the best courier around anyways so I may as well be the one to deliver the message.” 

Joshua pauses, his eyes flickering from her eyes to the floor. He meets her eyes once more, doesn’t look away for almost an uncomfortably long amount of time. Shay blinks, wills her eyes to look at something, anything else. There is a particularly interesting stalk of dried vine that catches her attention. 

“I imagine I already know what the news is.” Joshua finally speaks, voice heavy with pain. He steps back, makes his way back to the bench, and sits back down. His eyes stare ahead, focusing on something invisible to her. Shay sighs and heads over, takes a seat next to him. There is a warmth that radiates off of him, something she had not felt in a long time. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Shay begins. “I won’t tell you how I did it.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t make it quick.” 

Shay suppresses a smile, doesn’t say anything in response. The two sit in a companionable silence. There is a heaviness in the air, the news offering a moment of quiet contemplation for both of them, though Shay is sure that Joshua’s feelings are more complicated than her own. 

“I never thought I would outlive him. Outlive the Legion.” 

Shay sighs. “Even if I hadn’t killed him, you would have outlived him. Something was wrong with him in the head, something was killing him slowly. It was also making him reckless. Stupid.” 

Joshua doesn’t say anything as he clasps his hands together and closes his eyes. Shay studies him, sees the flutter of movement behind his eyelids, the tension with which he holds his shoulders, the subtle movement of lips beneath his bandages. He unclasps his hands and opens his eyes, focusing ahead of himself, on some dead plant that hung on the wall across from them. There is a dejectedness to the way he holds himself, any excitement at their reunion tempered by the news Shay had delivered. 

“When you are that evil I think it manifests inside of you. Makes you sick until it eventually kills you.” 

Joshua looks over at her, his eyes sad and so blue. “It killed me.” 

Shay scoffs quietly, shakes her head. “You didn’t die.” 

“No,” Joshua says. “I am still here.” Though he hardly sounds pleased about it. 

“I thought you would feel…” Shay trails off, can’t quite find the word. “Better about this.” 

“Before he was Ceaser, he was Edward. And I was Joshua,” he says quietly, his voice pitched with a rough timbre. “Had things been different, you may think me deserving of death.” 

“But I don’t,” Shay says it with finality. “You didn’t see him like I did. There was nothing left of a man in him. No love or light or anything that could have redeemed him.” 

“I don’t believe that.” 

She frowns at him. “How?” 

“Faith,” Joshua says. “Something you showed me. Forgiveness of God, forgiveness of someone who I wronged—your forgiveness. Your…companionship. I was undeserving. I still am. And somehow you are still here, traveled this vast distance just to be here. If I deserve that, with all of the pain and madness I have wrought, how could he not?” 

“He didn’t have the good sense to feel guilt like you do,” Shay says, taken aback at his confession. “His only redemption was dying and putting an end to his own reign of terror.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” Joshua places his hands in his lap. There is a tentativeness Shay feels suddenly. Wracked with the idea that Joshua had placed so much value on their relationship, that he held her forgiveness in such high regard. It made her chest twinge, made her stomach flip. “Though you may say I deserve the same then.” 

“Stop with all this deserving or not deserving shit,” Shay says, her frustration at the situation growing in her gut. “You’re not like he was.” 

He hums quietly. “The sentiment is appreciated, but I think you may have some bias.” 

Shay rolls her eyes. “Who gives a shit? I came here to see you. I know you more than you think I do.” 

Joshua doesn’t say anything to that. He stares at her again, studies the way she holds her arms crossed tight to her chest. 

“I’ll say it one more time,” Shay uncrosses her arms and leans forward. “You’re not him.” 

There is a moment between them, heavy and quiet, where Shay thinks she may have crossed a threshold, where she may have angered him or broken some bond. She holds her hand out, palm up and vulnerable. Joshua looks down at it a moment before reaching out and placing his hand in her’s. A warm feeling blooms in Shay’s chest as she looks at their entwined hands and she rubs her thumb across the back of his bandaged hand. 

“You may never believe me,” Shay says as she looks up at him. He is staring at their hands. “But I’m here. And maybe I’m crazy and that bullet fucked up my brain more than we thought it did, but I don’t have any intention of taking back any of it. So you’ll just have to take my word for it.” 

Finally, he looks up at her again. 

“It is good that he’s dead,” Joshua says. “If only in that it brought you back to me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I couldn't wait long! I felt very strongly that we needed to get Shay and Joshua reunited ASAP. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! And thanks for all the feedback/kudos/comments. It is always appreciated! Especially now as we are starting to get to the less slow part of the 'slow' burn ;)  
> See you soon!


	13. Chapter 13

The village that the Dead Horses occupied must have been small, even back in the pre-war days. There were a few buildings, but it was mostly just a long street. Shay found herself wandering in a daze out of the greenhouse, her feet carrying her forward toward the town hall where Judy had promised a bunk and a bathroom. 

She had left Joshua in the greenhouse with a smile, a promise that they could take breakfast together or go fishing or something small and mundane and completely controlled by instinct rather than any actual thought. Her mind was far too occupied with what he had told her, with the reality that perhaps their budding friendship had been something different altogether. 

The pieces were all starting to form in her mind, every piece and part of her that was rational pushed against them with enough brute forced to storm the Dam. But it didn’t matter. It would never matter how much she could deny it, how much she could pretend that it wasn’t true. It would always be true. 

Her dreams about him, the way his words could invoke a physical response from her, the simple fact that she traveled all this way just to tell him she killed Ceasar. It all added up to the worst of truths. 

She loved him. 

Even thinking it felt wrong, felt like it would stop her in her tracks and bring her to her knees. Shay had never loved anyone in this way, had never felt suffocated at her own guilt at the idea. It would have been so much easier if it was just attraction, just some sexual thing that she could excuse away as just being lonely and deeply fucked in the head. Of course, it was _that_ , it was _that_ whenever his voice would dip in those low tones it could hit, whenever the stretch of his broad shoulders rolled in a way that made his muscles appear beneath his shirt, whenever his eyes would flicker from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes again. Now it was _that_ on top of actual feelings of love and affection. Of a dying need to know whether he felt the same way. 

She hated him, too. 

As all of these thoughts ruminate in her head, Shay barely notices when she collides into Judy, accidentally bumping the other woman forward in her path. 

“Oh Judy,” Shay says, seeing the woman in the early moonlight. “I’m sorry.” 

Judy brushes herself off and frowns as she turns around to meet Shay’s look. When she sees the blonde’s face, her frown goes from agitated to concerned. “You alright Shay? You look a little pale.” 

“I’m fine,” Shay tells the other woman. “I’m just tired.” 

“How did things go with Mr. Graham?” She asks innocently. 

“Oh it was great,” Shay forces a fake smile. “Really just spectacular. Wish you could have seen it.” 

Judy cocks an eyebrow at her, places a hand on her waist. “You always this cagey?” 

“Yes.” Shay answers quickly. 

“Oooo-kay,” Judy says. “I won’t ask next time. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

“I’m fine,” Shay says, placing a hand on the back of her neck, trying to defuse some of the tension there. “Just was a little heavier than expected.” 

Judy looks back toward the greenhouse, her eyes a little wistful in the low light of the evening. “He’s a lonely guy, you know. Probably doesn’t have a lot of people he can unload to.” 

Shay cringes. “Well I guess somebody has to pick up the slack.” 

“I put you up in one of the upstairs rooms. You havin’ dinner?” 

“Not hungry.” 

“After all that walkin’ you did and you’re not hungry?” 

Shay doesn’t say anything in response. In truth, her stomach had turned sour, any thought of food chased out by the much stronger feeling occupying her stomach now. There were no words or actions Judy could offer to make her feel at ease—the unsettled feeling rumbles around in her chest, bounces back and forth amidst her ribs. 

“I’m sorry,” Shay says quickly. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

Judy stares at Shay for a time, one eyebrow quirked upward incredulously, a hand on her hip. Judy’s eyes flicker down to the necklace then back up to meet Shay’s gaze. “Something he said really got to you, huh?” 

Shay blinks down at her feet. There is a small rock, dull and grey, that she kicks away swiftly. “I just need to rest. And not think for a little while.” 

* * *

It had been a long night with no sleep. The room Judy had provided for Shay was modest, holding space only for a small bed, a dusty dresser, and a three-legged chair that sat sadly in the corner. There was a bathroom down the hall, though the door was not attached to the hinges and some of the stalls were wrecked spaces of broken porcelain and busted walls. It wasn’t the luxury Shay had grown used to at the Lucky 38, but it was more comfortable than sleeping on the ground outside. It was colder here in Utah at night, so the bed was much appreciated. 

Whatever meager comfort she may have found in the room was quelled by the thoughts that were running through her mind. 

If she left right now, no one would be any the wiser. There would be no awkward silences, no tense, quiet moments between her and Joshua. She wouldn’t even have to say goodbye. And if she stayed she would only make it harder for both of them to say goodbye again, to leave and not be able to pick up where they left off this time. Shay brings her hands up and holds them close to her face, studying her palms. There was no easy solution, no simple way to solve her problem. 

She could talk to him, try and ease some answer or solution out of him so that she could have some closure and close the door on all of these feelings she was having. It wouldn’t be easy. 

Shay sighs and plops her hands back down on the bed. The moon hangs low outside, bright in its fullness, and the crickets are loud enough to keep anyone awake. She reaches for her bag underneath the bed and rifles around in the old duffel until she finds the small rectangular pack she was reaching for, fingers brushing old cardboard. Shay grabs the box of cigarettes before standing up. Checking for Benny’s old lighter, stuffed clumsily in the pack, Shay brings the box up to her eyeline. She throws on the heavy flannel she had brought with her then heads toward the door. Footsteps creak loudly against the old wood, each squeal making Shay wince with how much of a disturbance she probably was to these people. 

There had to be a nice enough spot outside to smoke and look at the stars. When she opens the door, however, she is surprised to see a figure waiting for her. 

And, of course, its him. 

“Joshua?” Shay asks incredulously, her heart speeding up at the sight of him standing in her doorway. “What are you doing here?” 

Looking as though he got his hand caught in the cookie jar, Joshua takes a step back from the doorway. “I was going to ask you if you would like to take a walk with me. For old time’s sake.” 

“It’s late.” Shay chuckles out, fingers gripping the pack of cigarettes so tightly she can see the whites of her knuckles. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Me neither.” 

The pair stand together in silence, Shay unable to look up and meet him in the eye. There was a heavy silence, a quiet that seems to penetrate to the bone and leaves her cold. Shay blinks up, looks at him, the slope of his shoulders, the tired eyes. Something in her breaks, snaps in half like a twig in the path. She smiles. 

“Well,” she begins. “Why don’t you come in?” 

He pauses, clearly unsure what to do with the invitation. Before she can regret her words enough to change her mind and send him away, Joshua acquiesces and takes a step inside, moving forward so that Shay has to move aside to let him in. His proximity is not lost on her, nor is the warmth, the scent, the _feel_ of being close to him again. She hates it. Hates how much he mattered to her and how many senses she could fill her mind with just about him. 

Shay closes the door behind her and tosses the pack of cigarettes on the chair in the corner. His back is turned to her, his eyes forward on the boarded-up window in front of them. 

“Was there something you wished to discuss?” Joshua asks suddenly. Shay shakes her head at him then steps forward so that she’s in front of him, back in his line of sight. He looks down at her. 

“I think you’re the one who came here,” Shay muses. “In fact I think you were waiting outside my door.” 

“I was going to knock.” 

Shay smirks at him, trying anything to lighten the mood a little. “Was there something you wanted to discuss with me?” 

Joshua sighs, the weight of the world rolling off of him in waves. Shay chances a step forward, close enough to reach out and touch, but still far enough to get away. 

“I felt your arrival here was overshadowed by grim news,” Joshua’s voice is quiet in the night between them. “There are other things we didn’t get a chance to catch up on.” 

Shay crosses her arms. “Such as?” 

He was playing for time, Shay could tell, but for what she didn’t know. There was always a gravity with which Joshua spoke, taking the time to carefully choose whatever he was going to say, unless, of course, he was angry. 

“I felt your absence,” Joshua speaks suddenly, plainly. “I wasn’t sure I would ever see you again.” 

Shay swallows. “Well I promised I’d come around.” 

“Yes,” Joshua says. He seems closer now, as if he had stepped toward her without actually moving. Shay can feel herself drawn to him, to the low tones with which he speaks to her in this little, dark room. “A promise kept.” 

“Are you saying you missed me?” She asks, heart pounding fast in her ears. 

“Yes,” he answers almost immediately. “I…” and he trails off, at a loss for words. Shay has never seen him unable to find the right words. She steps forward, almost as if pulled by some invisible force. The moon lights his features in pale white, his eyes bright, watching her closely. 

Shay’s arm moves of its own volition as she reaches up and places a hand against his cheek, cold fingers against worn bandages. Her own breath stutters at that, the contact of her skin against him. 

“I missed you too,” her voice doesn’t sound like her own, whispered in the small space between them. She runs a thumb down the side of his cheek, lets it rest on his chin. Briefly, she wonders if it hurts to be touched. 

If it does, he doesn’t make any indication of it as he reaches up and wraps his hand around Shay’s wrist, fingers clasping tightly around her skin. Coaxing her hand gently, he moves so that her thumb rests on his lips. A moment passes between them, and Shay almost wants to close her eyes. It’s too much—his closeness, his eyes, his skin hidden beneath the thin layer between them. Her chest aches, her heart beats. She’s sure he can see it in the pulse on her neck. 

“Please.” Shay says, her words coming out in a quick breath, unsure of what she was even asking for. The words to seem have enough of an effect on Joshua, however, as he reaches up with another hand and places it on the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her blonde hair. 

“Shay,” he says, his voice so low, so guttural that Shay can feel it in her bones. “I—“ 

She leans forward and interrupts him with a kiss against the bandages, her lips struggling to find the form of his. It’s awkward and clumsy, not the first kiss she would have wanted for them, and when she breaks away she has to force her eyes away, embarrassed. 

Joshua doesn’t say anything, but his hand tightens around her neck, and before she can look up to see what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses his lips against her’s, skin-to-skin. Shay closes her eyes, feels the smooth-ness of his lips against her own, the way he has to lean forward to kiss her because of his height over her. If there were any question about his feelings it had long since been answered. 

Shay wraps her arms around his shoulders, hoping and praying that the pressure of them didn’t hurt his skin too much. He deepens the kiss at that, his body pushing her’s forward with ease, urging her back toward the hard wood of the wall. He places one hand on the side of her body, the other he brings forward, fingers and thumb around her neck, palm pressed against the crucifix she wore around her neck. 

They break apart for a moment, Shay’s mind trying to hazily catch up with everything that was going on. One moment they had been talking plainly, the next he had her pushed up against a wall, lips swollen and heart pumping. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, unsure what she was even apologizing for. “I hope I’m not hurting you.” 

It is odd to see the lips form the words, bring forth that voice. Then all he says is her name, forced out like a breath he was holding, “Shay.” The sound of it, coupled with seeing him say it sends a shot of warmth that begins at the crown of her head and trickles down straight to the place between her legs. Joshua ducks down and kisses the spot between her neck and her shoulder. 

For a man of such strong faith, there was a deep thirst, an aching hunger that she could feel in each of his kisses, in the way that his tongue would savor against the salt of her skin. She supposes it makes sense, to be so far away from something for so long, to have that thing right in front of you, like a ripe fruit waiting to be eaten. It was intoxicating. 

She wonders what this will be like in the morning, if it will even get that far, if she is breaking something that can never be repaired all for the sake of momentary pleasure. 

But their lips meet again, and her thoughts melt away in favor of more instinctual feelings. His grip on her neck tightens, as if she’ll fade if he’s not holding on tight enough. Shay doesn’t mind, the feeling is pleasant, warm and intense. Just like him. 

She wonders if it would be too much to touch him, to run her fingers down his chest, his stomach, to _feel_ him as she wants to. Would it be too much for him, for his skin? 

“Can I touch you?” She asks through breaths shared. 

His eyes meet her’s, the intensity of his gaze making Shay’s skin feel like it was on fire. There was hardly any space between them, all the air in the room is charged with static, urging her forward. It was hard to resist. 

“No.” his breath is harsh as if the word was trapped in his chest and forced out. 

It all comes crashing down on Shay suddenly like a tablecloth pulled out from under her, glass clattering all over the ground. She is sure the disappointment shows on her face, like a greedy animal, licking her chops and still wanting more to eat. 

He reaches up, runs a thumb across the scar on her cheekbone, his fingertips catching on the grooves where her stitches once sat. “Allow me.” 

It was a demand, disguised as a request. Shay leans her head back on the hard wood, neck stretched and cold and exposed, laid bare for him to sink his teeth in.

It would be a good way to go, she thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm so anyway this chapter just kept getting longer and longer. I had to end it somewhere. What can I say? I like to ramble. 
> 
> Thanks all for reading! And for the comments/kudos/feeback/etc. See you soon ;)


	14. Chapter 14

Shay thinks the journey may have been worth it for this alone, just to be alone with him, to be close to him enough that she can lose herself in him. 

He hadn’t let her touch him, and she was a good listener for the most part. The urge to reach out and touch him, to pull him further toward her was so strong it was almost impossible to resist. Somehow she had managed. He touched her, however. His hands and fingers and mouth had coaxed curses and prayers from her. Even now, in the morning after it all, she thinks she’ll struggle to regain her breath. 

For such a religious man he was quite deft in undoing her. 

When the light that creeps through the boarded-up window begins to turn a light blue Shay realizes that he hasn’t lay down with her yet, is sitting up on the bed, hands clasping in his lap. She leans up on her elbows, studies his form in the moonlight ahead of her. The cool air of the room makes her wrap her blanket closer around her form. 

“Please tell me you’re not praying after we just did that.” She says, voice hoarse. 

Joshua turns his head to look at her, his eyes dipping to the bare skin of her clavicle before returning to her eyes once more. “I was not praying. I was contemplating.” 

“Contemplating?” Shay asks. 

“What I would do in this situation,” Joshua says. “I am unfit to be anything more than what I am. You know this.” 

“Joshua,” Shay sighs as she sits up, body tired and achey from the long journey here. “I want whatever you have to offer. I’m not looking for anything you can’t give.” 

“I don’t have anything to give you.” 

Shay blushes. “I would beg to differ.” 

He doesn’t dignify her quip, lets the words peter out and linger in the air between them. Shay swallows thickly. She knew that their pillow talk would hardly be regular, but he’s not even laying down with her, his face is covered, bandages swiftly replaced. 

“In my darkest dreams I would not allow myself to have you,” Joshua says. “And yet you offered yourself to me.” 

Shay leans forward, the blanket sliding off and exposing her bare skin to the early-morning air. She inches forward on the bed toward him until she is on her knees next to him. The proximity to him makes her chest flush, makes her head spin a little, memories of bandaged hands on her thighs, fingers running down her spine. 

He doesn’t know where to look, settles on her eyes. 

“You don’t understand,” Shay says. She reaches up, places a hand on his neck. The muscle their stretches beneath her hand, beneath the bandages. “I want you to have me. Any way you want me.” 

Joshua swallows. Shay continues. 

“I came here for you. And I’ve made my peace with all the rest.” 

Joshua stares into her eyes, a warmth reflecting back in them. Nothing had ever been easy about them, not their conversations, not their friendship, not even this. But he compelled her to think outside of herself, occupied a permanent space in her mind. When she had killed Lanius, her first thought had been of Joshua. When she had killed House, her first thought had been of Joshua. In her mind, he was always there, lurking in the corners, just out of her reach. 

Joshua holds a hand out to her, palm up. She smiles down at it, places her hand in his. 

“You must be patient with me, Shay,” Joshua says, staring down at their hands between them. “I don’t know how to be the man you think I am.” 

This was becoming somewhat of a theme with them—the idea that Shay didn’t know the ‘real’ Joshua, as if that man even existed anymore. She rolls her eyes. 

“Whatever you need.” 

The sit like this until the first few rays of morning sun start to peek through the slatted window. Warm amber light illuminates him, makes the lightness of his eyes stand out. Shay smiles at him. 

“They’ll talk, you know.” 

“They already have been,” Joshua lets her hand go, folds his in his lap. “It seems you have awoken me from a slumber I had not known I was in.”

Shay’s smile deepens, a warmth fluttering up from her chest and making her cheeks rosy. “Well, good morning then.” 

* * *

Despite the newness in the early dawn, the rest of the morning proceeds fairly normally. Joshua leaves her with a thinly-veiled smile and a promise that they can take supper together. She assumes he heads off to his greenhouse, maybe to take time to reflect and pray. Hopefully not regret. 

Shay readies herself for the day, tucks a knife in her boot and Maria in her belt. The danger out here seems to be mostly restricted to an occasional critter here and there, but Shay never felt like she could go without her gun. It would make her fingers itch and her hair stand up on end. 

As she leaves the town hall and steps into the little village, Shay is shocked by the amount of people who were already up and about. She always figured that she woke up early by most people’s standards, but these folks were already in the middle of their morning chores. There was food being served in a little hut down the way, men walking off with fishing rods. The morning air was chilled, touched with the hint of winter. Shay takes a deep breath, lets the crisp air fill her lungs, then exhales. 

Judy was probably teaching the kids at this time, so Shay wanders further down alone. As she passes by huts and dilapidated pre-war houses, some of the Dead Horses smile or wave at her. She recognizes a few of them from their time at Zion. A young woman approaches her from down the way, her eyes dark and her hair tied in braids. She smiles at Shay. 

“I have heard many things about you, Shay,” she tells her. Shay is shocked at the woman’s sudden approach and words. “When we were in Zion, I did not approach you. But I see you return now. It is good to see you again.” 

Shay smiles at the other woman a little awkwardly. “Thanks. You know, I wasn’t really expecting anyone to know who I am.” 

“Joshua knows you. You and him were close in Zion.” 

Shay blinks at her. The girl is young, probably only a year or two younger than Shay, but obviously quite perceptive. “That’s true.” 

“Tell me,” she says. “Would you like to learn to fish with me?” 

Some instinct that has been worn into Shay’s brain from living in the wasteland, tells her that it’s not a good idea to accept an offer that you didn’t know the details of. Shay never fished before, there was no reason to. The Mojave’s waters held irradiated fish, creatures that if consumed would surely set you on your back for a while. If they didn’t kill you outright. Shay frowns. She’s probably the most irradiated thing in this village. 

But the girl seems sweet and her almond eyes reflect back nothing but earnestness to Shay. 

“Sure,” Shay says. “Let’s go learn something new.” 

* * *

How anyone perfected this art of waiting for absolutely nothing, Shay had no idea. She hadn’t caught a single fish and they were in the early afternoon now, the sun rising higher and higher in the sky, the breeze chilling against her neck. She fiddles with the bait and tackle, feels the string slipping through her fingers. 

“You don’t have patience.” The other girl whose name was Follows-River looks at Shay with a furrow to her brow. The name was a reminder of a friend from a few months ago, the look on her face a reminder of a much different friend from many months ago. 

_“That’s your problem, Shay,” Arcade tells her through a grimace. “You don’t have any patience. For anything.”_

“Guess I don’t.” Shay says as she tosses the Radroach meat onto the ground. It was useless. No fish would catch on her line if she couldn’t bait it probably. Follows-River shoots her a look of pity. 

“It’s not your fault,” she says. “Sometimes the fish aren’t hungry for bug meat.” 

“Can’t say I blame them,” Shay jokes as she stands up and brushes the dirt off of her pants. “You ever had Radroach steak?” 

Follows-River sticks her tongue out and makes a disgusted noise which makes Shay giggle hard. There was something refreshing about being with another person without the expectation that they want something from you. 

When Shay’s giggling subsides she turns to look behind them, and is surprised to see they have a guardian. Joshua stands far enough away to be casual, but she notices him. Of course, she notices him. His arms are crossed, the tip of his boot digging into the soft earth. Shay holds a hand up to her eyes to shield herself from the sun. She shoots him a big smile, hopes that he can see it. If he does, he doesn’t respond. 

“He comes here to fish,” Follows-River says. “He taught me how to use bait. I taught him how to sew.” 

Shay looks at the other girl, her hair the color of chestnut in the sun. “You taught him how to sew?” 

“He called it an ‘exchange of ideas,’” she says. “He wants me to be knowledgable in these things, I suppose.” 

“Do you know why?”

“He thinks he is too old,” Follows-River explains with a frown on her face. “He wants someone to carry on his knowledge when he dies.” 

Shay scoffs at that. “He’ll probably outlive you and me both.” 

Follows-River doesn’t respond to that, and the sudden silence that takes place between them makes Shay feel uncomfortable. Just a few moments ago they had been laughing with one another like two pre-war schoolgirls. Shay looks back at Joshua. He’s still watching them. 

“I think he wants you to stay here with us.” Follows-River says.

“I doubt that.” Shay crosses her arms, focuses her eyes on the girl sitting on the ground next to where she stands. Whatever Joshua wanted would have to wait. 

“We spoke about you, once,” Follows-River looks up at Shay as she speaks, eyes squinting. “I asked him what he would say to you if he saw you again.” 

Shay doesn’t say anything, she holds her breath tight in her chest, places a tentative hand on the necklace. 

“He told me he did not know. He has never said a thing like that before—that he didn’t know something. I think, in truth, he knew what he wanted to say, but he did not wish to tell me.” 

“He’s finicky like that.” Shay says. 

“I will be forthright where he was not. I like you, Shay. When I saw you in Zion I thought I wanted to be more like you. I would help you be welcome here,” Follows-River says plainly. Shay blushes at the girl. “We can fish together until you learn how to catch something, finally.” 

Shay lets out a sad chuckle. “I don’t think I can stay.” 

“No,” Follows-River says sadly. “I did not think you could. It was worth trying at least.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shay can’t look at the other girl suddenly, overwhelmed by a wave of sadness, that sickly feeling of having disappointed someone who thought better of you. “I wish I could.” 

Follows-River stands up, the fishing pole strung up out of the water and firm in her hand. She smiles at Shay, and Shay notices the small dusting of freckles against the other girls cheeks. She seems so much younger than Shay. Maybe Shay just feels so much older than she actually is. “I am going to go eat something. Even in cold air, the sun can take your energy. You should eat soon,” Follows-River’s eyes flicker behind them. “And I cannot take up all of your day.” 

“We didn’t even catch anything.” Shay says, a little petulantly. 

“The water may be too cold right now,” Follows-River says. “Or maybe they aren’t hungry. Like I said—you are not patient.” 

Shay rolls her eyes at that. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“I will see you later for supper.” And with that the other girl takes her leave from Shay. As she passes by Joshua on the way back to the village she stops and offers him a brief smile. He nods at her, a slow, steady thing 

Shay smiles at him again and steps forward, ready to face whatever was giving him that unsettled look in his eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit with this chapter. What kind of pillow talk could one possibly have with Joshua Graham? Lol. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! And thanks for all the kudos/comments/feedback. It is always appreciated. See you soon!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly nsfw in the second half

Shay walks up to Joshua, her feet carrying her faster than her brain can think of something witty to say. She doesn’t know why he looks so concerned, why she can even tell how he’s feeling behind those bandages. A cool breeze carries past her, reminds her that the season is changing soon. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks bluntly, her voice sounding rough and coarse in her own head. Had she always sounded like that? 

“Nothing is wrong.” 

“Ok,” Shay frowns up at him, tries to study him to see if there was anything she was missing. He stands before her as usual, nothing out of the ordinary. But the unease she can feel off of him is palpable, she can almost taste it on her tongue like a bitter fruit. “You just seem a little on edge.” 

A small chuckle escapes him, much to Shay’s surprise. She looks at him with wide eyes. 

“Forgive me, Shay,” he says, quickly regaining his put-on veneer of calmness. “Out of the two of us, I would argue that you are the more unsettled here.” 

“It’s just the way you were looking at us seemed a little…” she trails off, unable to find the right word for it. 

“You can infer my sense of comfort from all that distance away?” 

She smiles awkwardly at him, kicks the toe of her boot into the dirt beneath them. “Kind of. Am I off?” 

“I am not uncomfortable, if that is what you’re inferring,” Joshua says, and he steps closer to her in a surprising show of confidence. Shay looks up at him, the proximity making a light pink blush dust her weather-worn cheeks. She felt silly. “I enjoy watching you.” 

“Watching me what?” Shay asks, feels her heart constrict in her chest. 

“Watching you,” Joshua says. “More precious than jewels.” 

There is nothing she can possibly say to follow that up, besides her words have stopped in her head. There was a gravity in the way he spoke to her, a finality in the words he offered her. It makes her dizzy, makes her stomach feel heavy, her knees feel weak. She supposes that’s what loving someone was supposed to be. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” She says because she loves to ruin a good moment with her ugly words. Internally, Shay cringes at the clumsiness of her own question, the fumbling nature with which she navigated this whole exchange. 

“What more would you like to discuss?” He asks. 

“Just—“ Shay looks around briefly, makes sure that they’re alone, and of course they are. “Why you didn’t want to…” 

“Ah,” he looks down at the ground between them for a moment, eyes focused on a pebble between them. He was thinking. Shay can practically see his thoughts strung out between them. “I am not sure I have the strength to…I am not sure I can offer you more than what I already have.” 

“And what about you?” 

“I only want for you,” he says, his voice low. “I don’t need to indulge myself in that way. It wouldn’t be right.” 

“What?” Shay asks incredulously. 

“I am greedy, Shay—a sinner down to my old bones,” he explains casually, as if he wasn't being totally ridiculous. “You have a life to be lived yet, and I do not fit in it in any way that is comfortable.” 

“So you’re what, breaking it off?” 

“I did not say that,” he says, holding a hand out in surrender. “But I want more than I know I can have. You know this.” 

She stares at him, dumbfounded at this sudden admission. It had hardly been what was expecting at the beginning of this conversation, with his soft words and physical closeness. 

“You can have it,” Shay says. “I want you to have it. _I_ want to have it.” 

“You will leave.” 

There is a silence that hangs heavy after that sentence, and the winter’s chill feels stronger in the air at that. Shay swallows, feels heavy in her boots on the ground. He didn’t want to go too far, didn’t want to take it farther for fear of losing her so quickly after she came back. It makes her heart twinge, fills the pit of her stomach with a sense of dread. Perhaps he loved her too. 

“Shay,” Joshua reaches out, places a hand on her shoulder. “Let us not speak of such things when we have so few moments together left.” 

She looks at the hand on her shoulder, feels the way his finger rubs a circular pattern against the fabric of her flannel. The intimacy of their touches was coming easier and easier, and there was a newfound freeness in being able to feel. It would be painful to leave that behind, to leave him behind. She knew that when she came here. 

“You’re so pessimistic.” She tells him, jokingly, weakly. 

“I am old,” Joshua says, his mouth forming a small smile behind the bandages. “I would think, for my lot in life, I am actually rather optimistic.” 

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.” Shay says as she places a hand over his own, feels the bandages beneath her fingers. 

“We are becoming quite deft at that.” He is joking with her to appease her, to distract from his earlier admission. She doesn’t care. She’ll take it. 

“We are.” 

* * *

Shay doesn’t take dinner with the rest of them that night, instead opting to spend some time to herself in her room to clean her guns. Truthfully, there was hardly any reason to maintain them so well, but her thoughts of leaving here chip away at the back of her mind, leave her feeling restless. 

The room was her solace from everyone, though she knew her peace may be fragile. Her broken promise to eat dinner with Joshua earlier makes guilt tug at her gut. He may come around soon enough and she would have nothing to comfort him with, no way to assure that she would stay. Because she didn’t want to. 

It was a pretty life, easy in its simplicity, but it wasn’t the life that she deserved, wasn’t the life she was supposed to occupy. Vegas could hardly run itself, and in all of her fumblings, Shay had accidentally appointed herself as the only person who could do it. Joshua would never follow her home, and he shouldn’t have to. 

Those thoughts follow Shay for the rest of the night, make it so that even despite the tiredness that lurks in her bones from the sun-beaten activities of the day, she still cannot fall asleep. When she stares up at the ceiling, she can see patterns of the New Vegas strip on the ceiling. 

Some point, late in the night if the quiet is to be believed, someone opens her door. Shay shoots up quickly, unaffected by her drowsiness. She grabs Maria at her bedside and points it at the door. Whoever stands there is nonchalant. They don’t even make the effort to put their hands up. When Shay’s eyes finally adjust to the darkness, she can see it’s Joshua who stands in her doorway. 

“Sorry,” she says as she lowers the gun and as he steps in tentatively. “I didn’t know it was you.” 

“You missed supper.” And the last memory ofhis voice low in her room takes shape in her mind. It makes a hot flush spread from her chest to her cheeks. 

He steps in the room further, barely illuminated by the waning moonlight that peeks through the boarded-up window. Shay watches his form, the stride of his step, the heaviness of his footfall. 

“I wasn't hungry.” 

“I suspect it has much to do with our discussion this afternoon,” Joshua looks out at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “Am I correct?” 

Shay picks at a thread on the bed, eyes unwilling to meet him. “You expect me to just go on like normal after you basically tell me you don’t see this going anywhere.” 

Joshua steps toward her now, places a knee on the bed and it sinks between them. He leans toward her, places a hand on her shoulder. The contact sends a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. 

“I didn’t say that.” He insists, eyes meeting her’s. 

“That was the basic idea.” 

Joshua sighs, looks down toward the floor. “I know you, Shay. I know that you cannot stay here.” 

“And you know that you’re not going to come with me,” she rebuts. “Right?” 

He doesn’t respond to that because he knows that she’s right, knows that the answer will sound crass and harsh if he brings it to form. 

“I didn’t come to dinner because I wanted to avoid this exact conversation,” Shay says and she leans forward, inches away from his face. “Wanted to avoid that look on your face.” 

The two sit in this stand off for a time, neither willing to move forward to meet the other. Shay doesn’t know how long it has been, doesn’t know if she even has the energy to continue this argument of their’s for much longer. The moon hangs high in the sky, and the deep sleepiness of night was threatening to take her under. 

She lays down on her side, tries to ignore the man at her bedside, which was much easier said than done. His presence was so palpable to her, set her nerves on fire, made her weak in places she used to be strong. He infuriates her. 

The bed sinks as he lay down next to her, and she can hear the shuffling of bandages coming undone. 

Fingers touch the back of her neck, rub circles against the sensitive skin of the nape of her neck. Shay breathes out a sigh, feels a heavy weight leave her body with it. 

“Let me pretend, for a time.” He says in a whisper, almost like she wasn’t meant to hear it. 

She feels lips on the back of her neck, the soft brush of a kiss against her tanned skin. It sends a jolt down her spine and makes her body turn soft like putty in the bed. His arm wraps around her as he clutches her wrist, his finger touching the sensitive skin on the underside of her arm. 

Shay backs up until their bodies are flush together, and she can feel every part of him nestled against her like bricks in a house. He is so warm, even through all the layers he still wears. Some harsh noise escapes his lips, rubs against her neck like a hand. It’s a pleasant noise, one that invokes a very strong reaction from the pit of her stomach. 

There is a moment where she thinks maybe she’s gone too far, but it passes quickly as he runs his hand down her ribcage to the dip in her hips. His fingers press into the fabric of her tank top and he maneuvers his hand inside her shirt, lets himself touch her skin. 

“Does it hurt?” She asks again, her voice sounding a lot less sturdy than it had in her head. 

“It is a divine pain,” Joshua’s voice is strained against her ear. “To touch you is a gift. Anything else is unimportant.” 

No one has ever said something like that to her before. Shay moves her head to try and look at him. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I welcome it.” He says quickly. 

A swell of courage crests in Shay, and she quickly turns to face him in the bed, the space between them so small. His mouth is bare, but Shay can’t bring herself to care. She reaches up, places a hand on his chest. There is a sharp intake of breath, but she can’t tell who it’s from, him or her. 

There is a moment where she wonders what Shay from a few months ago would think of her now, what she would do it she saw this image. Her and Joshua, so close together, on the precipice of their point-of-no-return. Past-Shay would probably tut and shake her head, but it seemed that this would be their outcome every time, in every iteration. 

Shay’s hand moves slowly down his chest, rests on the buckle of his belt. 

“Shay,” is all that he says, his voice low and heady. 

“You should know,” she whispers up at him. “I love you.” 

“I know.” He tells her. 

“It doesn’t change anything,” Shay’s begins to undo the buckle, the thunk of it sounding loud and lewd in her quiet room. “does it?” 

“No,” he says, eyes intent on her face. “But, for what it is worth, I love you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not imagine a relationship between Shay and Joshua without a healthy dosing of angst. They are both too stubborn. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! and thank you for the kudos/comments/feedback!! see you soon!


End file.
